After Dark
by Chi Yagami
Summary: Orphaned at a young age, Romano is sent to Spain to work in a large castle owned by the reclusive Lord Carriedo. The lord himself is friendly, albeit stupid, at first glance, and Romano takes a liking to tending the large tomato garden. But the many rooms of the castle hold secrets, and, after dark, Romano's employer seems to become an entirely different person... Spain/Romano
1. Chapter 1

Pairing: Eventual Spain/Romano

Rating: T

Notes: I debated on posting this or waiting until I finished... and then I realized I might never finish, so I may as well post it anyway. I am hoping to keep the chapters shorter, but as usual, we'll see.

Cover art by pika09.

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 **AFTER DARK**

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The carriage ride from hell was almost over. No, wait, rather, the carriage ride _to_ hell was almost over. Soon, Romano would be standing at the gates of his new h– residency. _Home_ was too affectionate of a word to use to describe the place where he'd be living from now on. There was nothing affectionate about indentured servitude.

Romano had been cooped up in the carriage for almost six days now, aside from the brief stops at shoddy inns for a few hours each night. He had been lucky enough to travel with a merchant for free, or unlucky, considering the man's terrible driving skills. Romano was barely able to sleep with all of the jostling and banging about that the carriage did over the gravelly roads. Not only was peaceful sleeping out of the question, but he was bored out of his mind, too. He almost wished he had been sent to Austria with his younger brother, if only for the company.

The Vargas brothers had never been particularly close, probably due to their strikingly different dispositions. Feliciano was friendly and cheerful, while Romano was ill-mannered and sullen. Romano couldn't help it, though, that everyone made it known how much they preferred Feliciano over him. Even his own grandfather had chosen to raise his younger brother in Venice, leaving the older boy with his sickly parents on their farm just outside the city of Rome. After their grandfather had died, Feliciano returned home to help Romano care for the land and their parents, but the rift between the brothers had grown deep.

Feliciano stayed inside, dabbing his parents' sweaty foreheads with damp cloths, praying to God, Mary, and Jesus for their recoveries, even if the local doctor had determined their illnesses to be terminal. Romano worked outside, herding the animals, fetching water, chopping firewood, and tending to the large garden. It was a perfect system. The boys only saw each other during mealtimes, and Romano didn't have to take care of his unappreciative parents any longer.

His parents had been the worst at favoring their younger son over the elder. They had been heartbroken when Feliciano had left for Venice, even though they knew he would be getting a better life and education with his maternal grandfather-in-law. The old, rich man had never been interested in his distant relatives, until he met Feliciano at another relative's funeral. He had taken a liking to the boy and offered to let him come stay in Venice in the big mansion there, where he would receive a good education and upbringing. Romano's parents agreed at once, sad as it made them, for the Vargas family was not at all well-off, and the farm had been hit hard the past two years. So, when Romano was barely five years old, his younger brother had been whisked off to a fairy-tale story with their wealthy grandfather, leaving Romano behind to pick up the slack.

His parents fretted over their younger son's future, always talking of what sort of education he might be receiving or the important people he might meet. They never asked Romano what his future might be like. They rarely thanked him for preparing dinner or chopping wood or feeding the goats. Romano had confronted his mother once, asking if she even remembered she had another son, one who was actually keeping the farm up on its tiny chicken legs. She had laughed, asking in turn, why should she be thankful for such a clumsy oaf of a son?

Romano knew he was clumsy, even if his parents hadn't told him a thousand times. Although he did keep the farm afloat, just barely, he was actually terrible at housework and chores. He constantly got splinters from cutting wood, and he dropped the ax on his foot more than once. He did not have an affinity for animals, so herding the sheep proved difficult, as did milking the goats and collecting the chicken eggs. He was even worse at cleaning, knocking over all manner of things in the house when sweeping, spilling water everywhere when doing the dishes, and almost losing laundry to the wind when hanging it up to dry. The only things Romano was remotely good at were gardening and cooking.

He was sure these two skills were the only reasons that kept his parents from selling him off as a slave.

Of course, barely four years after his brother had left, their grandfather died and Feliciano returned, sparing Romano from any more parental harassment. For not long after his brother moved back in, their parents grew too ill to leave their beds.

Feliciano had made the hour's journey to the closest town and fetched a doctor. Romano thought the man was absolutely incompetent at his job, failing to identify exactly what his parents had come down with and if it was contagious or not. Whatever the case, Feliciano had insisted upon caring for them, even if it put his body in harm's way. Romano didn't try to stop him; he wasn't about to offer to do it, nor did he particularly care if Feliciano became sick as well. He was sure that deep down, deep- _deep_ down, he probably still loved his family, but Romano wasn't patient enough to dig through all the years of hurt and disregard to find those feelings. The tears he shed at night were ones of exhaustion, or at least that's what he told himself. It was easier to not care.

He hadn't been particularly sad after his parents finally passed away, not even after the farm was seized. Nor did he grow upset when the orphanage refused to take the children, offering instead to find them work as indentured servants. He found it somewhat ironic that, even though they were dead, his parents still managed to cast him into slavery. Romano hadn't even cried when he and Feliciano had to be split up. His brother did, though. The younger Vargas cried like a baby, so much so that it would seem the two boys were especially close. Quite the opposite, really, Romano knew that Feliciano was only scared of the Austrian aristocrat who had agreed to take him.

Sir Edelstein gave off a haughty, no-nonsense air, and Feliciano's crybaby self would not mix well with such an atmosphere. His brother was generally cheerful, but Feliciano was also quick to cry over the smallest of things. He had never really done an honest day of work in his life, having been too young during his first years on the farm, then spending several years in a mansion, and finally resigning himself to bedside duty for the sick. He supposed Feliciano might be happy as a nurse, but he doubted that Sir Edelstein would have his brother doing that sort of work. Romano envisioned a lot of chores and dishes in his brother's future.

In the end, he decided that he preferred this terrible carriage ride to Spain over the company of his stupid brother and a future in Austria with that sour-faced gentleman.

While the orphanage had quickly arranged for Feliciano to go with Sir Edelstein, who happened to be in Italy on business, it had taken longer to find a suitable position for Romano. There had been several positions available in nearby cities, but Romano's foul temperament had hastily ended those meetings. No one wanted to hire a bratty eleven-year-old whose first reaction upon meeting was to insult and curse. So the patrons at the orphanage began to look abroad, with the hope of skipping the interviews altogether.

How exactly the headmistress had found him this job, Romano did not know. All she had told him was that he was going to work for a Lord Carriedo in Spain. He managed to find out a bit more by eavesdropping when the plump woman talked to the merchant, arranging for Romano's ride. They spoke in hushed tones, but he managed to catch a few snippets of conversation. Apparently Lord Carriedo was a recluse who lived in a large manor, situated on top of a hill overlooking a sleepy Spanish village. The family had resided there for generations, though the manor never received visitors, and Lord Carriedo rarely ventured into town. There were rumors that the place was haunted. The merchant seemed anxious about bringing a child to such a place, but the headmistress, desperate to get rid of Romano, insisted that the lord had requested Romano specially. He highly doubted such a thing, but he wasn't interested in spending another night sleeping on the floor of the orphanage kitchen on a ratty mat, surrounded by the screams and sobs of other children, so he smartly held his tongue.

He could have gleaned even more information from the merchant, but Romano wasn't at all social, and so he never thought to ask the man anything over their six day journey. He also just wasn't interested in learning about his new employer; slaving away for a stranger seemed better than slaving away for his parents, anyway, and the less he knew about the man, the better. He guessed he would be doing menial housework for some fat, old miser until his employer died, at which time he would be handed off to someone else.

The merchant called to him from the driver's seat. "Almost there, lad. Passing through the village now. Just a half hour away."

He didn't bother answering; the man couldn't hear him over the wobbling wheels on the cobblestone. He did, however, peer out the dirty window to look at the passing buildings. Romano supposed the town looked similar enough to the ones back in Italy, but the fact was, he knew he was _not_ in Italy, and so everything here was foreign and strange. Quickly losing interest, he curled up on the lumpy seat and closed his eyes, attempting to sleep despite a growing headache.

He must have slept after all, for the next thing Romano knew, the carriage was pulling to a stop. The merchant leaned into the compartment, checking to see if he was awake.

"The mansion's just up the slope, lad," he said, his passable Italian thick with a Spanish accent.

Romano hummed in response, glancing outside. They began leisurely trotting up a path lined with trees, illuminated in the glow of the carriage lanterns and the sinking sunlight. All around them were more trees, as far as the eye could see. After a few minutes, the driver spoke again, telling him to look up ahead.

Romano gasped. What appeared to be a massive ship was looming in the distance, high above the treetops. As they grew closer, the structure looked less and less like a ship, and more and more like a castle. A castle! Romano had thought he would be living in a large manor, like his grandfather's. He never thought he would be living in a castle!

As they approached, the castle only seemed to grow in size. It was surely three stories tall, with leveled rooftops and several towers. The fortress disappeared into the trees once they were close enough, and Romano found himself breathing deeply. He must be tired, that's all. No way was he scared!

The carriage finally pulled to a halt in front of a grand entryway. The castle seemed to stretch for miles behind the large, double oak doors. The man helped him out of the carriage, even though Romano was perfectly capable of doing it on his own. He led the boy over to the doors and knocked loudly, banging the brass knocker against the wood several times.

"Well, I best be off," the man said, tipping his hat. "Someone 'to come fetch you at an appropriate time."

"You aren't staying?" Romano asked, happy he sounded more annoyed than nervous.

The merchant shook his head. "I have places to go, people to meet, boy. I already 'done enough for you." He climbed back onto the carriage and cracked his whip, driving away down the rocky and woody terrain.

"Bastard," Romano muttered after him.

Now he was alone on the front doorsteps, in the cold night air, waiting for only God knew who to answer the door. Five minutes went by and no one came to the door. Romano shifted on his feet as he recognized the need to use a chamber pot. Hopefully someone came soon...

Another ten minutes passed before Romano decided to stomp off and relieve himself in the woods. He came back to the front doors after another five minutes. Still, no one appeared. The house was dark and silent.

He tried banging the knocker again. And again, and again, repeatedly for several minutes. Another hour crawled by before Romano considered walking around the perimeter and finding another door to knock on. Clearly Lord Carriedo had stepped out, or perhaps he had passed out drunk at his dining room table. His father had done that quite often back when Romano had been a toddler, so he knew from experience that a drunk lord wouldn't think to check his front steps for a long while. The bigger and more important question was, where were the servants?

Surely, a mansion of this caliber had to have some attendants. A few maids to keep the hundreds of rooms tidy, a butler to keep a tight shift (and perhaps answer the door?), certainly a cook. So where were these people? If Romano had been hired as a servant for the lord, surely he had other servants as well.

Unless... no one actually lived here.

That merchant man had claimed Lord Carriedo rarely left his manor. But had he _actually_ seen him? Had anyone ever seen him? The rumors about the place being haunted were looking pretty good right now. And Romano was here, alone in the dark...

He curled up into himself on the top step, close to the doors. The stone was terribly uncomfortable, but Romano was too afraid to sleep on the softer ground of the woods. Who knew what sorts of animals were out there? He shivered as the cold wind blew, wishing he had brought a blanket. The thought was foolish of course, as he had no possessions to bring from his previous home. Feliciano had kept the single family photograph and a few other things that had belonged to their parents. Most of their things had been seized with the farm, and Romano hadn't wanted any family mementos. Who wanted to remember parents like that? His family was the reason he was now freezing outside this God-forsaken castle. Feliciano was off with some prissy Austrian, probably set to inherit their grandfather's money when he came of age (though it had never really been discussed), and Romano was going to die here on some drunk man's doorstep.

No, he told himself, he wouldn't die. He'd walk down to the village tomorrow morning and find someone to complain to. Perhaps he'd been dropped off at the wrong estate, yes, that seemed a likely reason. It was too dark to go now, so he'd attempt to sleep and then head off when it was daylight again.

Despite the hardness of the steps, Romano eventually drifted off into a restless, dreamless sleep.

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 _This will be a Spain/Romano story, but no, it will not be pedo!Spain._

 _Lord Carriedo's castle is based on the Alcázar de Segovia, well-known for its shape like the bow of a ship... fitting for Spain, I think!_

 _Currently working on chapter 2 of this story. Luck Be Lady ch3, as well as a requested Ladybug fic. A few Romerica one-shots for Fried Tomatoes. Aaaand another Spain/Romano story, a 4 chapter one... about a third finished. I hope my muse can hold itself together!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Notes : This chapter turned out to be way longer than I planned, so... enjoy!_

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 **Chapter 2**

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Romano jerked awake, fairly certain he had only managed to rest for a short few hours. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he saw the sunrise twinkling from just over the woods. Perhaps it was six or seven o'clock in the morning? If so, he'd slept far longer than he first thought. Maybe it was just his aching back that made it feel like he'd barely slept.

He rolled over to look up at the towering estate, his eyes following the arch of the grand doorway. He glanced at the double doors, only to find one of them was open.

A face was looming at him from within the darkness of the castle.

Romano shrieked and tried to scramble away, but he'd forgotten he was perched at the top of a staircase, so he more or less rolled down the stone steps, landing hard on his bottom. He stood, stumbling in his haste, and looked back at the door, weight shifting to his toes in case he needed to run.

An old woman was peering down at him from the entryway. She had come out and was now standing in front of the door, studying him. He watched as her face changed from surprised to pensive to worried.

"¿Quién eres tú?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Romano was certain she was speaking in Spanish, and though he knew none of the language, he could guess that she was either asking Who are you? or What do you want? He had to wait for his heart to calm down before he could answer. She'd practically scared him to death!

"Romano Vargas," he replied, pointing at himself.

Her suspicious face melted into a smile. "Ah, the Italian!" she cried, clapping her hands together. She hobbled down the steps to look him over properly. "They said you were older... Such a scrawny thing..." Her Italian was garbled, but Romano appreciated the effort. At least she _knew_ Italian.

She patted his arms, frowning at the small muscles there. "Not what we expected, but perhaps it will work out, ja? But why you here so early? They said not to expect you until tomorrow."

That explained the lack of welcome he'd received yesterday. Somewhat. People should still answer the damn door.

"I was dropped off yesterday," he sniffed, shifting uneasily under the woman's hawk-like eyes.

"Gisteren? Goede God, u sliep hier de hele nacht?" she rambled, slipping into a language Romano did not recognize. "You poor thing," she tuttered in Italian, grasping his shoulders and leading him up the stairs. "Been out all night in the freezing cold! I tucked in early yesterday thinking you'd not be here until tomorrow!"

The old biddy stopped fussing over him as they entered the mansion. She left Romano standing in the entryway as she turned to close and lock the doors behind her. He looked around, staring at the grand hall. It was mostly empty, aside from a large, ornate rug hanging on the wall. The rug was covered with a layer of dust, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling and dotted the corners.

"Welcome to Alcázar de Carriedo, Romano," she said, sweeping her arm out. "My name is Emma Roosevelt, and I am the housekeeper here. You may call me Miss Emma."

Miss Emma seemed kind, though perhaps a bit dotty, but Romano supposed that came with her age. Her wrinkles and graying hair suggested that she was at least in her late forties, though Romano didn't personally know of anyone who had lived past forty-one. He figured a housekeeper for a rich lord might have better health than back home in a farming village, though.

She was wearing a long, black dress and a simple apron. Her hair was braided and tied up with a ribbon, and even for an old lady, she seemed to exude a certain loveliness that his own mother had never possessed. When Emma smiled, Romano was surprised to see decent, though crooked, teeth. If the servants were this healthy at such an age, he wondered how old Lord Carriedo would live to be.

"So, umm, Miss Emma..." he trailed off, looking down the hall and trying to imagine how many other rooms there must be. "What would you like me to clean first?" From the state of these walls, he supposed he would be dusting and mopping until he died.

"Ben jij niet schattig!" she giggled, her voice crackling. "Nonsense, Romano, you only just arrived! First we will get you all settled in! Take a bath, have some breakfast... I will show you around the house and things."

Romano could only nod as Emma led him down the hallway. They passed through many grand rooms, sometimes stopping as Emma explained their purposes. First, they came to a large sitting room used for entertaining guests. Then a library. A few more, smaller sitting rooms. A large study. They passed quite a few closed doors. A grand dining hall.

They entered the kitchens, and Romano was surprised to find no cooks. He tugged on Emma's skirts. "Where are the rest of the servants?" he asked. They hadn't seen anyone else in the house so far.

Emma patted his head and smiled, though she had a sort of distant look in her eyes. "There aren't any," she replied. "It's just you and me, Romano."

He gaped at her. "Only the two of us...? For this large castle!" His eyes narrowed. "You're lying. You have to be."

She shook her head as she went about the kitchen, fetching a pan and some eggs. "I would not lie about such things. Before you arrived, it was only me! Well, for almost a year now. There were others before, but they are all gone now."

Romano watched her light a fire and crack the eggs. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until now, watching her cook.

"Others?" he asked, still confused as to why such a large mansion wouldn't have a cook.

"The Roosevelt family has served Señor Carriedo for decades," she explained. She coughed strangely before continuing. "I mean, my family has been serving the Carriedo family for generations," she said quickly, scrambling the eggs. "Go open that cupboard over there, Romano. That one, yes, and pull out some bread. For many years, the Roosevelts have worked here, in this house, cooking and cleaning and such. But now it is only me."

Romano had dutifully retrieved the bread, though he had knocked over a stool in the process. He hastened to pick it back up, not wanting to look stupid. He had hoped his clumsiness would be left behind in Italy, but it would appear he wasn't that lucky.

"Why?" he asked, watching Emma cut the loaf into thick slices.

"If we had more sugar and grain, I could make you waffles," she said with a wink. "As for why I am the only servant left... it is simple. The rest of my family is dead. My younger brother died from measles as a child, and my parents died almost twenty years back. My older brother died a few years ago with no child, and I am childless as well."

Romano had no idea what a 'waffle' was, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. "Were you ever married?" he asked, climbing onto a stool at the small table.

She chuckled. "Quite the nosy boy, aren't you?" She waved off his stutters of embarrassment. "I do not mind at all! It's nice having someone to talk to; it gets so lonely in this large house... Ah right. No, I am not married. I was in love once..." The woman wiped her hands on her apron, smiling fondly at the cooked eggs. "However, it just wasn't meant to be. I will not tell you that sad story though, Romano."

He blushed and nodded. What was happening? He was never this chatty, not with family and certainly not with strangers. He supposed Emma just gave off a certain... air that made him feel a bit at ease. Something about her smile and the way she talked reminded him of a grandmother he had met only once; she had been a nice woman, but she had died shortly after, so he never really got to know her. He should stop asking personal questions though; it might give Emma the idea that Romano would share his background, too, something he was not at all willing to do.

Emma placed a chinked plate in front him, piled with scrambled eggs and bread. "Eat up!" she ordered, pinching his arm. "You are so skinny! They said you worked on a farm, ja? Why you have no muscles?" She handed him a fork.

He stabbed the eggs greedily; his last meal had been a horrible porridge at one of the inns, so he practically wolfed down his breakfast, savoring the fresh eggs and soft bread.

Realizing that she expected an answer, he swallowed and reluctantly paused in his eating. "I did work on the farm, but... we only had chickens and the like. I didn't do much heavy lifting..."

Miss Emma laughed, patting his arm affectionately. "I only joke with you, Romano! Anything you do not know, I am happy to teach. I am quite old, you see, so that is why Señor Carriedo wanted another servant. We have had several boys come through but..." Her expression darkened. "...none of them worked out. Not many people want to live in this big, empty place. Señor Carriedo can be... difficult to get along with; he's very strict and likes his privacy, so the few local applicants have been turned away. Perhaps you have heard the rumors, ja? Señor Carriedo merely likes his privacy, that is all. That is why we decided to look outside of Spain."

Romano understood now. Lord Carriedo wanted someone who was unfamiliar with the 'haunted house' rumors (though why anyone believed such things was beyond him), and someone who was used to hard work. He guessed the orphanage headmistress had fabricated some of the finer details of his upbringing (Emma had mentioned he was supposed to be older, hadn't she?) just to get rid of him. And Romano had no family to return home to, so he would be less likely to want to leave. Not that it mattered. Romano couldn't care less about some rich man's private life, and he was an indentured servant under Italian law, so he couldn't exactly leave even if he wanted to. Besides, where would he go?

Emma took his clean plate and fork over to the large basin and washed the dishes. She did not ask Romano to help, and he didn't feel like offering. So he looked around the kitchen, wondering if washing dishes or cooking would be something he'd be doing in the future. He still didn't quite understand why there weren't other servants. Surely, there must be people willing to work if it meant free meals and a bed. Or why didn't they hire other foreigners, like himself, if the rumors were enough to scare the locals away. Something was off about Emma's story, but Romano couldn't bring himself to care too much. If the amount of chores became overwhelming and Emma was displeased with his performance, he'd deal with that when it happened.

From the kitchen, they headed upstairs to the bedrooms. The servants' sleeping quarters were right above the kitchen and dining room. There were several unused, dusty rooms, and then Emma showed Romano her bedroom.

"You'll be right next to me, Romano. You need anything at all, you just let me know," she told him, unlocking the bedroom next to hers.

He gazed around the room, looking over the nice bed, the small armoire, and the cushioned armchair. His room back home had consisted of nothing nearly as fancy; the brothers had shared a small chest for their clothes and slept on a mattress of straw in the loft over the fireplace. The furniture here was nowhere near as magnificent as what had been downstairs in the parlors, but it was nicer than anything Romano had ever owned. Still, he wasn't a materialistic child, so he didn't fawn over the room. Instead, he marched straight over to the window and looked outside.

They were only on the second floor, but the mansion was situated up on a hill, so Romano could see straight over the little town and get a good look at the mountains. Had he ever been up so high?

"I notice you didn't bring anything with you," Emma commented, bringing him back into the room. "When I go shopping for apples, I will get some fabric too. For now, you might be the same size as Lux; you can borrow some of his clothes." At Romano's confused stare, she added, "My little brother. He died around your age, but we kept some of his things, in case Nathaniel or I ever... Well, in any case, I'll go fetch them for you, ja?" She swept from the room, leaving Romano alone for a bit.

Obviously she had kept the clothes in case she had children, and thinking about it must have made her sad, based on that hasty retreat. It didn't bother Romano at all to wear some dead boy's clothes, but he didn't need Emma tearing up every time she saw him because he reminded her of her little brother. Romano wasn't very good at dealing with people, especially not upset, crying people. He had never been good at comforting Feliciano when he cried; if anything, Romano usually upset the boy even more.

Emma returned with several outfits, laying them out on the bed. "You can wear one after your bath, ja?"

"What does that mean... _ja_?" he asked, tired of hearing the woman say it with no context as to its meaning. "It's not Italian."

She laughed, gesturing for Romano to follow her out of the room. "No, you are correct. It's Dutch; it means _yes_. My father was born here, in Spain, but his ancestors came from Holland. And while he was visiting relatives there, he met my mother and fell in love." She seemed to swoon romantically, getting lost in the story, so he nudged her to finish. "Well, they got married, and my mother came back to live here. She only spoke Dutch though, never did pick up Spanish. So my brothers and I were taught both Spanish and Dutch. We spoke to our father in Spanish and to our mother in Dutch."

They walked through several hallways, passing many closed, unused bedrooms; Emma opened the door to one that was expensively decorated ("For whenever the señor has guests," she explained). The two stopped in front of a large wooden door, slightly different than the doors to the bedrooms.

"Why do you know Italian?" Romano asked, trying not to sound too interested. He was actually impressed that a servant woman would know three different languages.

"When I was a girl, I was sent to a finishing school in Italy, run by a distant relative," Emma answered, opening the door to reveal a large bathing room. "I was too young to help around the mansion, so my mother found me a spot at the school. She wasn't the best at housekeeping, so she wanted me to learn elsewhere. And Lux was a sickly child, so much of her time was spent caring for him."

The bathroom was a wonder to Romano. He had never seen anything like it, nor had he ever heard of anything similar. Emma explained that Señor Carriedo traveled a lot, so he was very knowledgeable on the latest inventions and things. The mansion had recently undergone work to have indoor plumbing installed (something Romano didn't understand no matter how many times the old woman tried to explain it), so the room was equipped with running water for a bath and for the chamber pot.

Or _retrete_ , as Emma called it in Spanish. There was an adjoining room with a separate door that housed the 'toilet' chamber pot, and a small basin for hand washing with an attached faucet. Romano was in awe. He wouldn't be required to empty the chamber pots... They emptied automatically, and right away! He flushed the pot five times, watching the water go down the pipe, before Emma lightly scolded him for wasting water, though she was clearly amused by his glee at the toilet.

Romano was also amazed by the running, _warm_ water available for the bathing tub. Emma explained that Señor Carriedo spared no expense to have the latest water heater model installed (it was on the ground floor, right under this room).

"This is supposed to be the private bathing room for guests, but the señor allows me to use it, and now you can use it, too," Emma told him, filling up the tub. The tub was porcelain and not movable, built into the floor for plumbing purposes. Romano had only ever used a metal tub to bathe in, and he usually shared a bath with his brother to conserve water. And he most certainly had never had a _heated_ bath.

"The servants' quarters do not have their own bathroom or lavatory, so we have to come all the way across the castle to use this one. Señor Carriedo rarely has guests these days, so he allows us to bathe here and use the toilet. But only this one, you understand, Romano? Señor Carriedo's personal bathroom is on the third floor, directly above us, but you cannot use it." He nodded to show his understanding. "So you take your bath and leave your dirty clothes here, I'll go pick out your outfit for today." Emma placed a towel on the chair next to the tub and left, closing the door behind her.

A towel. _A towel!_

Romano stripped and climbed into the tub, settling down into the water. He hadn't had a bath in weeks. Not that it bothered him; baths were a luxury among the poor, so he was used to being dirty. But it felt so nice to be clean, and the water was warm and soothing... And there was soap! _Actual soap!_ Romano scrubbed at himself all over.

He felt as though he was washing away the grime and dirt of his former home, and starting anew here. So far, it seemed pretty good. He had a nice bed, new clothes, a _bathing_ room... the housekeeper was nice, too. If Lord Carriedo let his servants live like this, he had to be a nice man, too, right?

Romano soaked in the tub for almost thirty minutes before Emma returned with fresh clothes. She turned away as Romano got out of the tub and wrapped the towel around his body – and oh, how _soft_ is was! Emma drained the tub and smiled at Romano's relaxed state, watching him hug the towel closer to himself.

When he felt sufficiently dry, Romano dressed. Emma had brought him a white shirt, breeches, socks and shoes. They were nicer than any of the clothes he'd ever worn before, which had consisted mostly of his father's old hand-me-downs, or rags his mother had sewn together. Remembering that these had once belonged to another boy, he cleared his throat.

"Is it all right to wear these?" he asked. "Are you sure...?"

Emma helped him tuck the shirt into the trousers. "It is fine, Romano. They are a little big, but I will buy more fabric tomorrow from town and make you some new clothes. Afgesproken?"

They left the bathing room and took the long walk back to the servants' rooms. Romano tried to memorize the halls and where to turn, but he gave up quickly. He'd never been good with directions.

They returned to his room, where Emma showed him how to fold his clothes and stack them in the armoire. She had already taken Romano's old clothes to the laundry room, which was down by the water heater, something Emma promised to show him later.

"Do you want to write the orphanage and let them know you arrived safely?"

Romano practically snorted. "No. I..." He flexed his fingers. "It's not important."

Emma scrutinized him. "Do you know how to write? How to read?"

"No," he replied, looking away when he felt his ears burn.

Though, why should he be embarrassed? He grew up on a farm with little education. Why would she expect he knew how to do those things? He was fairly sure his parents hadn't owned a single book.

"That's okay, I can teach you," Emma said. "Señor Carriedo will want someone who can read his letters and write back. Sometimes he sends instructions or lists while he's traveling, things to do before he gets back and the sort. I'll teach you the Spanish language, too, while we're at it. Enough to get by, anyway."

He nodded. He wasn't looking forward to it, since he generally failed at everything he tried, but Romano should be grateful that the woman had even offered. He supposed he couldn't expect Lord Carriedo to know Italian, after all. Or 'Señor', as he'd better start calling the man.

"How many languages do you know?" he asked curiously.

"A few... Dutch, Spanish, Italian... a bit of French and English too," she replied. "Do you want to learn all of them?"

"No," he said, shuddering at the prospect of learning _French_. "Just Spanish. Could you teach me to write and read in Italian, too, though?"

"Of course!" she laughed. "I had planned on it. Maybe a bit of English, too, since Britain and America are becoming powerful nations. Several of the señor's guests have been English."

Romano wasn't sure if he could handle three languages, but he supposed anything was better than French. One of the priests for the village church had spoken nothing but French, and he had terrified Romano as a small child.

"So, Romano, did you get enough rest on your journey? Are you up for some cleaning today?" Emma asked. "Nothing major. We can start out small and work our way up, ja?"

Well, he'd been hired as a servant; he couldn't exactly refuse.

He and Miss Emma spent the entire morning cleaning the entry hall and the first sitting room. Romano knew how to dust and mop, but Señor Carriedo was very particular about how his furniture, books, and items were arranged, so Emma showed Romano how to carefully dust around and under things. Romano, for his part, was trying his best to keep his clumsiness under control. However, he managed to knock over an entire bookcase and spill a bucket of mop water, among other incidents. Emma accepted his muttered apologies, and if she was angry or annoyed with him, she was very good at hiding it.

"I am quite old, Romano, so my bones do not work as well," she said when they stopped for lunch. "Every year, it gets harder to bend over or scrub things well, so I am very glad you are here to help."

He just nodded, still embarrassed about almost breaking an expensive vase.

"So while you may not be fantastic at cleaning, I appreciate your efforts," she told him, smiling when he blushed, clearly not expecting to be called out. "They told me you did farmwork, ja? Are you good at that?"

Romano nibbled on his toast and cheese. He wasn't too fond of the dairy product, but he didn't want to complain after all the trouble he'd caused earlier.

"I did a lot of the work... the milking, collecting eggs... but I'm not exactly _good_ at it..." he admitted, biting his lip.

Emma looked thoughtful as she sipped her chocolate. Romano had never heard of chocolate before, and though he found the drink delicious, it was a bit too sweet for him to have with a meal. He stuck with water, though if Emma ever decided to offer him coffee, he would jump at the chance. He'd tried coffee once, when their grandfather had brought some, and he found it heavenly. He had been extremely jealous when Feliciano had gone to Venice, where he'd probably had coffee every day.

"Well then, Romano, what would you say you are good at?"

He hunched his shoulders, not liking such a question. If he answered, and then screwed up those things, Emma might think him a liar. But...

"I can cook," he mumbled. "Not much, just simple things like bread or cooked meat. I made pasta once..."

Emma seemed very interested in the pasta. "Really? If we get you ingredients, would you be able to make it again?"

"Umm... probably," he replied, shifting under her rapt attention. "I can also do some gardening, too."

Emma clapped her hands. "Uitstekend! This is wonderful news! I am unable to bend over for long periods of time without my back killing me, so the gardening has really gotten out of hand," she said, washing the dishes and handing them to Romano to dry with a rag. "As for farming, we have a chicken coop. We used to have more animals when we had more farm hands, but... Well, now we just buy milk and meat from the town, and they are delivered weekly."

"I thought you went shopping for that stuff?"

"Certain foods are ordered weekly, like meat and milk and sugar, but occasionally I go into town for other things like fabric or certain fruit, or if we are running low on something I really need. Tomorrow I will buy some wheat for your pasta, ja? Come, Romano, let me show you the garden."

He followed Emma into the kitchen's anteroom, where much of the ingredients and spices were stored, and through there into a third room. Here, Emma unlocked a back door and stepped outside.

Although the front of the estate was built on a steep hill, the backside had more of a gentle slope. The chicken coops were closest to the house, followed by an old, empty stable. Once the ground leveled out a bit, there was a decent sized vegetable garden, with several plants he recognized and some Romano had never seen.

"Señor Carriedo has brought back many vegetables and fruits from all over the world," Emma explained, pointing out each plant as she named them. "Eggplant... strawberries... peas... carrots... green beans... turnips... radishes... gooseberry... cucumbers... Over here we have watermelon and pumpkins. We don't have fruit trees, but we buy apples and such from the local market."

Romano stared curiously at all of the plants. Looking around, he saw a fenced-off area that spanned much of the grounds. "What's that?" he asked, pointing.

Emma pursed her lips. " _That_ ," she said, "is Señor Carriedo's personal tomato garden. Only he is allowed in there."

"Tomatoes?" Romano repeated, alarmed. "Aren't those poisonous?"

"Nope," she responded cheerfully. "Many people think they are, but they're actually quite delicious! We have a little row of tomatoes over here, too. You can try one later. Just don't enter the señor's garden without permission, you understand? He is... very particular about his tomatoes."

"Where _is_ Lord Carriedo?" Romano asked as they headed inside.

"You'd better start calling him Señor," Emma warned. "He doesn't speak much Italian, so we'll have to start on your Spanish immediately, tomorrow in fact. Señor Carriedo is currently away on business, not set to return for possibly another month. However, he has come back randomly before, so it's best to be prepared."

They cleaned a few more rooms and ate a quiet dinner before turning in for bed, and Romano was proud of the minimal damage he caused. He asked if they were going to clean the entire castle before Lo– _Señor_ Carriedo returned, but Emma told him they would only be cleaning the ground floor, the guest bedrooms, and the bathroom. The third floor belonged solely to Señor Carriedo, and the man only trusted Emma with the cleaning there; Romano was not allowed on the third floor unless granted permission. Romano was just thankful there was one less floor to worry about.

Over the next few weeks, they were going to focus more on Romano's education. Emma wanted him to be at least knowledgeable in Spanish before the señor came home, and they would clean perhaps one room a day each. Emma would also teach him more about the garden plants he was unfamiliar with, even if Romano was fairly certain he could figure it out by himself if needed.

Romano stripped and folded his clothes neatly, placing them on the chair. He pulled on the light tunic and worn breeches Emma had given him to sleep in; though he was used to sleeping naked, he felt it might be inappropriate here. He crawled into the smooth, clean sheets and sank onto the pillow. The bed felt amazing.

For the first time in many years, Romano quickly fell asleep, feeling better than he could ever remember.

* * *

.

* * *

 _¿Quién eres tú? - Who are you?_

 _Ja - Yes_

 _Gisteren? Goede God, u sliep hier de hele nacht? - Yesterday? You slept out here all night?_

 _Alcázar - Spanish castle of Moorish origin_

 _Ben jij niet schattig - Aren't you adorable_

 _Afgesproken - Okay/Okiedokie_

 _Uitstekend - Excellent!_

* * *

 _So... Romano meets Belgium! I just had to include her, plus it seemed a bit ridiculous to expect a child to clean an entire mansion all by himself. And both Netherlands (Nathaniel) and Luxembourg (Lux) are dead, how awful am I?_

 _Romano might seem a bit out of character here... But he is only around Belgium for now, and he had a soft spot for her in the manga/show, so I hope it's not too far off. His usual foul-mouthed, ill-mannered self will return once Spain shows up._

 _I am trying to be fairly historically accurate, but this is Hetalia, so please forgive me if not everything is 100% historically correct. I picture this story taking place around the 1860s... the Carriedo Estate has many bathroom features that were invented by 1860, but not exactly widely available. I have actually read many articles on everything from food in the 1800s to bathrooms (and let me tell you, reading articles about the history of toilets is... dull), though the history of food in Spain was a bit challenging to find exactly what I'm looking for._

 _Interestingly enough, I read that tomatoes didn't become popular in Italy until the 1800s, so I figure that Romano, coming from a small farm, wouldn't have grown those. Besides, Spain introduced the tomatoes to South Italy anyway, so I figure it works out..._

 _Señor Carriedo is set to appear in the next chapter~ or maybe the one after, depending on the chapter length. Again, this is not a pedo!Spain story or anything of that sort. This is eventual Spamano... key word: eventual. You can expect cute fluffiness ahead, but you may have to wait on the romance D:_

 _Thank you all for reading, watching, faving and reviewing!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Notes : As Romano is now learning Spanish, all normal dialogue from here on out will be spoken in Spanish, unless otherwise noted. Any other languages will be written in the actual language (French, etc). _

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

.

* * *

Miss Emma had said to expect Señor Carriedo at the end of the month, after four short weeks. However, the weeks stretched, becoming not one, but two months, and Romano had yet to meet his new employer.

His days were filled with cleaning, reading, writing, and speaking. Emma focused mostly on teaching him to speak Spanish well, and everything else was secondary. While they cleaned, Emma would teach him Spanish vocabulary. _La limpieza_ , the cleaning. _La basura_ , the trash. _La escoba_ , the broom. _Por favor, limpiar los pisos_. Please mop the floors. Emma made him repeat each word and command several times as they did a specific chore.

By the end of his first week, Romano also knew a few basic greetings and responses. _Buenas tardes, señor._ Good evening, sir. _¿Cómo está usted?_ How are you? _¿Puedo tomar su abrigo?_ May I take your coat? He was forced to practice such phrases hundreds of times a day, as he would address Señor Carriedo with these.

Romano would have loved to keep speaking Italian with Emma, but she argued that immersion was the best way to learn, so she spoke only Spanish most of the time. Over the growing weeks, Romano reluctantly began responding only in Spanish, too, though sometimes he slipped back into his native tongue by accident, or if he didn't understand something.

He supposed it could be worse. He could be learning German. Or French.

At least Italian and Spanish shared the same writing system, similar alphabets, and even some of the same words.

While Romano practiced, muttering to himself in Spanish, he tried to improve his cleaning. But no matter how hard he tried, his skills (or lack of) did not change. He would, of course, eventually get the job done, but not without a few missteps along the way. He was prone to knocking over bookshelves, spilling the water buckets, dropping chicken eggs, and sneezing onto newly-cleaned surfaces. It didn't help that he always grew tired around three in the afternoon, when he would stop to take a daily siesta (a word Romano was happy to learn meant the same in both Italian and Spanish). Emma did her best to keep Romano motivated, always promising that it was just an accident and that he would get better. However, he could see her brows furrow slightly as her lips would turn down. Even she was beginning to think it was a lost cause.

He redeemed himself with the gardening, though. Under Romano's green thumb, the fruits and vegetables began to flourish, even if it was their off-season. Emma noted that the tomatoes, especially, were the best she had ever seen, almost even rivaling the señor's. Romano quite enjoyed his hour or two in the garden each day, looking forward to it after a morning of cleaning and learning. Of course, the garden was no exception to his education, so even here, Romano would mutter the plant names to himself. _Tomates, berenjenas, fresas, zanahorias..._ Romano picked up food terms faster than anything else.

In the evenings, he and Emma would retire to one of the smaller sitting rooms, where they had a makeshift classroom. They would review the new words and phrases from the morning, and then they would practice a bit of reading and writing. Emma had found an Italian book of fairytales in one of her trunks, which Romano was learning to read from, first in Italian, and then they would translate a passage into Spanish. The woman also had several other Italian textbooks from her time spent in Italy. Romano's letters were large and shaky at first, but over the weeks, they grew smaller and were penned with stronger hands.

The day after Romano's arrival, Emma had kept her word and gone shopping. She'd left Romano at the mansion, promising to take him another day. She had returned that evening, arms laden with baskets full of food and cloth.

She had immediately taken his measurements and set to work making him new clothes. Romano had never seen such fine fabrics, even though he was certain these were plain in comparison to the señor's rich robes. Emma sewed several shirts for him, as well as some pairs of breeches and a few vests. He was allowed to keep the socks from Lux, five pairs in total. "You'll have to wear Lux's old shoes for now," she told him. They would go shopping for shoes another day, as Romano would need to be properly fitted.

She had also brought home wheat, which Romano practically drooled over. He had to wait until the following day to actually make the pasta, since Emma felt it was too late that night. So the very next morning, Romano was up early, eager to begin the tedious process of grinding the wheat into flour. Emma had offered to buy ready-made flour, but Romano had really wanted to do it himself, almost as if he was back home in Italy using wheat he had grown on the farm. The grinding process took a fair amount of time, so long, in fact, that Emma made him promise to use flour next time as to eliminate this step altogether. Although he wouldn't have the same satisfaction, after looking at his tired hands, Romano readily agreed.

After the ground flour was ready, Romano added the eggs and began to knead. From there, it was just a matter of kneading dough and then shaping it into pasta. And with the ready-made flour speeding up the process, they could have pasta once, sometimes twice a week! Emma encouraged Romano's culinary intuitions, telling him to experiment with various pasta shapes and sauces; usually, the pasta turned out well. Romano's favorite pasta addition?

 _Tomates_.

Tomatoes had to be God's gift to the earth. Romano had never tasted anything better. He wanted to add tomatoes to _everything_. He ate so many tomatoes that they had to extend the fruit's section in the garden. He ate them on bread, in pasta, with eggs, with beef... Sometimes, he would even eat them as a snack, biting straight into the juicy skin. Romano _loved_ tomatoes.

With all of the cooking he and Emma did, Romano felt he had eaten more in the last two months than he had in his entire life on the farm, and they weren't even eating large meals! Sometimes he felt incredibly lucky to have ended up in Spain.

Not that his new diet was without complications now, though.

Eating and drinking more at dinnertime, Romano now found himself needing to use the lavatory some nights. Having to get out of bed and walk to the toilet wouldn't be a problem... except that Romano always got lost in the ridiculously large mansion.

He was too embarrassed to wake Emma and have her escort him, so Romano was forced to wander the halls alone, opening every unlocked door and hoping it was the right one. However, many of the halls were interconnected, so he was always getting confused on where he had been before. Had he passed the flowery painting already? No, wait, this was a different painting... right? Romano could never remember. After wandering for almost an hour sometimes, he would eventually find his room again and finally return to bed, willing himself to hold it until the morning.

It never worked.

At least twice a week, Romano blamed his misfortune on full-bladdered squirrels. Emma was perplexed by his stories, but she didn't pry too much; she scolded him a bit and made her help him with the laundry, but thankfully she never questioned it too much. Romano felt horrible for lying to such a sweet old lady, but his pride and embarrassment refused to let him confess.

It was only at night that Romano had trouble; during the daytime, he found the toilet much faster in the light, and sometimes Emma would go with him to help him draw a bath. He made some excuse about liking the way she did the bubbles and that he could never do it right, but Emma didn't seem to mind too much; sometimes she would even stay and help him wash his hair, if he let her (usually when he was feeling particularly guilty about wetting the bed).

The problem didn't appear to be going away any time soon, so Romano resorted to eating less at dinner, sometimes not even drinking any water at all. Emma finally noticed something was off about two months into Romano's stay.

"Are you ill, Romano?" she asked him one night. "Why haven't you been drinking anything? And why aren't you eating today?"

He flushed, looking down at his plate. He'd barely touched his food tonight. "I'm fine," he lied, barely stumbling over the Spanish words. "I'm just tired."

She frowned. "You have been studying extra hard lately. Perhaps we should just stay home tomorrow, ja?"

"No! I'm fine, Miss Emma, I promise, see?" He shoved forkfuls of potato into his mouth at an incredible rate, despite his loathing for the starchy crop.

Tomorrow, Emma was supposed to take Romano into town to buy a new pair of shoes. After wearing Lux's old ones for two months straight, he had finally torn a hole or two in both of them. Emma promised he would have at least three new pairs, two for work and one for special occasions. Romano had been looking forward to going into town, not for the excitement of shopping or meeting people, but for the new shoes; he had worn Lux's shoes down to the soles.

After a (disgusting yet) healthy meal of beef, potatoes, and water, Emma agreed to not cancel their trip. Romano miraculously managed to hold his lavatory needs until the morning, so nothing heeded their journey into town.

They exited the castle on the east side, where there was another stable, larger than the empty one by the gardens. Romano helped Miss Emma saddle the lone horse and hitch it to a small cart, which they would use to pull their purchases home. She let him sit on the horse in front of her, so that he had a nice view of the scenery.

They followed the dirt path into town, the same one Romano had taken to reach the castle during the terrible carriage ride. At the foot of the hill, the trees thinned out to reveal the village, a sleepy little town with red roofs. He could hear a chime in the distance, probably belonging to a church or school. They passed several buildings before Emma pulled the horse to a stop, tying the reigns to a pole in front of a small shop.

A tiny bell jingled as they entered. Fabrics hung from every wall, and there were shelves upon shelves with shoes of all sizes.

A young man sat lazily behind the counter, inspecting his fingernails. He didn't even look up when they entered. "Hello, welcome," he greeted, his Spanish sounding forced to even Romano's inexperienced ears. Something about the accent...

The man glanced up, spotting Emma and Romano. At once, his demeanor changed. Before, he had been uninterested in the new customers, but after seeing just _whom_ had walked into his shop, the man was all eyes and ears.

"Ah, Emma! Comment allez-vous? Ça fait trop longtemps!" he drawled, hurrying over to embrace her.

French. The bastard was speaking _French!_ Romano drew back behind Miss Emma, hoping to shield himself from the offending man.

"Bonjour, Francis, je l'espère vous êtes bien," the woman replied. Romano cringed; he had forgotten that Emma knew French.

The man finally released her and smiled warmly. He was impeccably dressed, though Romano could only tell this by the colorful fabrics (not the hideous outfit itself). His blond hair was even tied back with a colorful ribbon. If he hadn't heard the masculine voice, Romano might have thought that this was a woman wearing pants.

The blond spotted Romano. "Oh? Et qui est-ce?"

Emma reached back to pat Romano's head; the boy was now hiding completely behind her skirts. "This is Romano," she introduced, switching to Spanish so that he could understand. "Romano, this is Francis Bonnefoy, and he is the best tailor in town."

Francis pretended to appear modest, but he was clearly enjoying it. "Arrêtez, Emma," he laughed, waving a hand. He turned to the Italian. "Bonjour, Romano! Are you Seigneur Antoine's new servant boy, hmm? All the way from Italy, oui?" He suddenly leaned forward and pinched Romano's cheek.

"Get off me, you bastard!" he yelled, slapping at the man.

Emma gasped and scolded him for such language, and Francis yanked his hand back. He chuckled nervously, running a hand through his ponytail.

"So, how may I help you two today?"

Romano stared, seething. Of all the nationalities... why did this guy have to be French?! Romano was reminded of the creepy French priest from his old church. This fancy blond was certainly much younger, but he still gave off a similar... creep vibe. Also, how did Francis know that Romano was Italian? Just from the name alone, _Romano?_ Or had he learned this information another way? Francis had called him _Antoine's boy_ , too, hadn't he? Was Antoine the señor's first name? It sounded very French. Did that mean that his employer was French, too? Romano tried not to panic.

"We're here to buy Romano some new shoes," Emma explained. "I'd like two pairs for work and one dress pair, if you please."

Francis glanced at the boy's tattered footwear and nodded. "It seems you came just in time, mon cher." He turned towards the back of the room. "Gisèle! Venez ici!"

A door behind the sales counter opened, and a dark-skinned girl came stomping into the shop. She looked to be almost Romano's age, though slightly older and taller. She scowled darkly at Francis.

"Ne me dites pas quoi faire!" she argued, crossing her arms. Then she noticed Emma and Romano, who were watching curiously. "Ah! Hello," she greeted, curtsying.

Francis rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. "This boy needs shoes. You will help him find the right size, oui? I need to talk to Emma in the back."

Romano clutched Emma's skirt tightly. She wasn't really going to leave him alone out here, was she? He looked up at her, worried.

Emma patted his head again. "Don't worry, Romano. I'll be just behind that door, ja? Francis is a good friend; he usually does the shopping for me and has someone send it up to the mansion. And Gisèle will help you try on shoes to find a size that fits you best," she said reassuringly. "I'll be just around the corner, ja? Yell for me if you need anything."

She pried his fingers from her dress with a chuckle, giving him a quick squeeze. Then she followed Francis into the back room, pulling the door behind her, leaving it just ajar enough to hear Romano if he needed her.

Gisèle stared at the door for a moment before turning to Romano. She smiled and gestured to a stool in a corner. "Please sit down! I'll bring over some shoes and we will find your size, all right?"

Romano nodded slowly. He really had nothing against the girl... aside from the fact that she seemed to be French, too. Gisèle began pulling small shoes off a shelf, and Romano wondered what exactly Francis and Emma could be discussing in private.

"You called Francis a bad word," Gisèle snickered, dropping several pairs of shoes in front of him.

He blushed. "So? He was being a pervert!" Romano replied hotly. He had actually sworn in Italian, but apparently bastard was the same in both languages. Good to know.

She giggled again. "I know, he's very touchy, non? I yell at him at least twenty times a day, but he never listens. He's just affectionate."

"An affectionate pervert, maybe," he scoffed.

"Perhaps," Gisèle agreed. "But despite that, he can be kind too. He did take me in, after all, when no one else here would. They didn't like how I look or talk, or they didn't want to hire a woman. So, as aggravating as Francis is, I do appreciate everything he's done for me. Now, how about you try on this pair, oui?"

* * *

Emma sat in one of the chairs in the small storeroom, a place that served as both storage and a connecting hall between the shop and the stairs that led to Francis's apartment on the second and third floors. He had offered the older woman tea, but she had kindly refused.

"Let's make this quick, Francis. I don't think Romano takes well to strangers," she explained, smoothing her dress.

The blond sat down across from her. Emma had known Francis for almost two years, ever since he had moved to the village from France. After hearing the stories about the Carriedo castle and the mysterious lord, Francis had made the trip up the hill for a visit. The villagers loved to gossip about the Carriedo estate, but they never visited; they knew better. Francis, however, had been new in town, and he was the sort of person who just didn't know when to quit sometimes.

So, ignoring his neighbor's warnings, he had come knocking on the door one afternoon when both Emma and the señor had been home. Emma had answered, politely turning the man away. But Francis didn't know when to give up, and he kept trying to get her to let him in. The señor had finally come to investigate what was taking his housekeeper so long, and he and the Frenchman had proceeded to get into a loud argument. Emma had managed to smooth things over, and an understanding and possibly even a small acquaintanceship formed between the two men. Of course, Francis was never allowed onto the property again, and the señor never went into town, but Francis was trusted with buying the weekly groceries and having them sent up the hill with Gisèle, and Emma always stopped to visit with him whenever she came into town.

"Emma, you know I like you and even trust you, even if we do not know each other very well," Francis started, sipping his own tea. "Antoine and I have never exactly been _friends_ , but I have never engaged in any of the town gossip, either. I know Antoine and yourself like your privacy, and I can respect that."

She started at the unexpected English, but she nodded, wondering where this was headed. Francis knew by now that she wouldn't reveal anything personal about her employer, no matter how many times he asked.

"So while I may not engage in the rumor talk with others, I do often hear such things when I go out. I find myself starting the evening looking for a beautiful woman to take home, but by the end of the night, my arm is bare and all that I have gained is more townsfolk speculation on Seigneur Carriedo." Francis set his tea aside and gave her his complete attention.

"Emma, I want you to know that I do not exactly believe in these latest rumors, but let me tell you what I have heard. In the past year, several boys from neighboring towns have gone missing." He held up a hand to stop her from interrupting. "Yes, I know you have told me that all of the boys you interviewed and hired for help and were eventually dismissed, and that you have not seen them since. I personally have no idea if these missing individuals ever worked for the Carriedos or not, but I must tell you that the villagers seem to think so. Of course, if they ever decided to officially accuse Antoine, they would have to search for your previous employees and their families, but right now, it is just more gossip."

Francis cleared his throat. "They have been talking... They think Antoine is behind these disappearances."

Emma frowned. She supposed that with her boss's reputation, she shouldn't be surprised, but she also knew for a fact that Señor Carriedo was not the source of any such thing.

"Well, Francis, that is very... interesting news. Though need to I ask," she said, looking pointedly, "why the change of language? I've never heard you speak English before. You know it is not one of my main languages. So forgive my poor speaking."

"Oui, oui," he agreed, "but I did not want Gisèle overhearing us. She is quite nosy for a young lady and has yet to learn her place. I did not want her to have the chance of hearing any of this."

Emma watched his face soften as he spoke of his indentured servant. The girl had not come with him from France, but he had employed her after his mother died. She was a spirited and mischievous fourteen-year-old, and Francis's attempts at taming her went unsuccessful. But Emma could tell he liked the challenge, and she quite liked watching the two bicker, almost as if they were a married couple. Although Gisèle mockingly called Francis a pervert on numerous occasions, Emma knew that the girl was quite loyal to her boss, and therefore would probably never repeat anything she shouldn't. However, considering it was Emma's _own_ boss they were discussing, she was grateful that Francis had been thoughtful enough to talk about such matters in a language that neither Gisèle nor Romano knew.

"Well, is that it?" she asked. "A few rumors, which are most certainly untrue, are hardly any concern, ja?"

Francis shook his head. "That's not all. About a month ago, Doctor Mathieu Williams, my cousin, was in England with his younger brother. They were trying to visit our relatives in France and had taken a ship from New York City to Portsmouth, and then they planned to go from England to France. Well, between voyages, my cousins went out to lunch, and Mathieu's younger brother Alfred was kidnapped."

Emma sat up a bit straighter at this news. She now understood why Francis was acting so serious, though what the kidnapping of his cousin had to do with the Carriedo household, she wasn't sure yet.

"That's terrible; I'm so sorry, Francis," she said, placing her hand on his arm in a comforting gesture.

"Merci," he replied, smiling sadly. Emma squeezed his arm before pulling back.

"So what does this have to do with Señor Carriedo?"

"Mathieu is understandably upset, but he could probably explain better than me..." Francis stared at her solemnly. "Emma, would you mind speaking with Mathieu yourself? You do not have to answer anything he asks that makes you feel uncomfortable, and I would never betray your trust. I have told him nothing about you or Antoine, only that you work for him. You have every right to refuse, but... please, will you speak with my cousin?"

"I... well... of course, Francis," she responded. "But... how long will it take him to get here from England?"

"He is already here," the Frenchman said, standing. "I'll fetch him now, if you don't mind."

Emma nodded hesitantly. This Doctor Williams was probably here visiting Francis, but shouldn't he be back in England, searching for his brother? She was very confused.

Francis returned shortly with another blond man in tow. He looked to be in his early twenties, around Francis's own age. He wore glasses and had one stray curl that fell over his face.

He held his hand out for Emma to shake. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Ms. Roosevelt." His voice was quiet and polite.

"Certainly, Doctor Williams."

"Matthew is fine," he said, sitting in Francis's empty chair. Francis stood off to the side, watching. "I'm sure my cousin told you that my little brother was kidnapped."

"He did," she agreed, "but how does this relate to me or the señor?"

"Alfred... he was kidnapped right in front of me," Matthew explained, a sob escaping his throat. "He was always such a curious kid... running ahead of me to look in shop windows, dragging me all across the streets, and trying to make friends with everyone we met. He's a very social and talkative child. So when I saw him talking to someone next to us on the corner that day, I thought nothing of it at first. But when we went to cross the street, I looked down and saw that Alfred was no longer there! I searched around and saw him being hauled off by that man he'd been talking to. I couldn't get a good look at the kidnapper; he was wearing a dark green cloak. But I yelled and chased after him, following them all the way to the docks. Alfred was struggling to get away, and I was trying to follow the sound of his voice, but I somehow lost them in the crowds of people at the harbor. I finally found some local law enforcement, and they searched all of the docked ships. They couldn't find Alfred or the cloaked man."

He paused for breath. "However, one ship had managed to sail away in the time it took me to get help. And that ship had set sail for Spain," he told Emma, looking at her evenly. "So here I am."

So that's why he was in Spain... Emma was beginning to put it all together. "So... naturally you asked around," she deduced. "And you eventually heard the rumors of the Carriedo estate and the missing boys, and you came here. I see... Well, unfortunately, Matthew, I have not met any American boys."

"He looks almost exactly like me, but younger," Matthew pressed. "Are you sure you didn't hire him? I'm sorry if I am offending you, but you have to understand... I just want my little brother back!"

"I understand, really, I do," she told him honestly. "But we never hired any blond or English-speaking boys. We only hired Spanish boys from nearby villages, and none of them worked out in the end, so we let them go back home. I assure you, Señor Carriedo did nothing to harm them. He's just a... disagreeable sort of man, and none of the boys worked out."

"I told you, Mathieu, I fully trust Emma and I believe when she says that Antoine had nothing to do with this," Francis chimed in, patting his cousin's shoulder. "The villagers have been gossiping about Antoine Carriedo for as long they can remember, and about his father before that, and so on. I hear all sorts of things when I go out."

Matthew let out a snort. "That's because you go to the taverns, where everyone is drunk and speaking nonsense."

Francis shrugged, and Emma laughed dryly. "The rumors fly even when they are not drunk, Matthew. Señor Carriedo... and his family have lived in that mansion for centuries, and they are very private people... Naturally the villagers make their own speculations."

Matthew nodded thoughtfully, sighing. "Thank you for listening, at least. Will you perhaps be on the lookout for any news? Francis told me that Seigneur Carriedo travels a lot; perhaps he might hear something."

"I will certainly do that," Emma offered. She bid Matthew goodbye, and he went back upstairs to the apartment. Then she and Francis returned to the store.

Gisèle had helped Romano determine his foot size, and from there, Francis showed them several pairs of shoes. Emma chose a cheaper style for Romano's work shoes; after all, he was a growing boy and would probably need new ones by the end of the year. She paid a little more for the dress shoes, since they were supposed to be nice. As they left the shop, Romano seemed to be in good spirits, or perhaps he was just happy to get away from the French people... Emma wondered what his problem with them was.

She didn't forget to scold him again for his rude language, though. Romano puffed his cheeks and turned away, but he did softly apologize.

After stopping to buy a few groceries, they finished the shopping. As they rode back to the house and away from the village, Emma looked back towards the tailor's shop and frowned. She hadn't mentioned it to Francis or Matthew, but she had her suspicions about this green-cloaked kidnapper...

* * *

Romano was rudely jostled awake the next morning. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. Dawn was barely peeking through his window. Why was Emma in his room so early?

"Romano, get up! The señor is returning home today! I just received word. Quick, get dressed and come have breakfast. We need to finish the last of the cleaning!" she ordered, pulling back his curtains. Then she laid out an outfit before hurrying from the room.

What...?

Then it clicked.

Romano leapt out of bed, throwing on his clothes. Emma had picked out his best shirt and vest, and she had even laid out his new dress shoes. He had to look nice for the first meeting with his boss, after all.

Once he was dressed and had flattened his hair as best as possible (except for that annoying lone curl), he raced down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Emma had already set a plate for him.

"Eat quickly, Romano," she urged, finishing her own food and dumping the dishes into the sink. "I have to finish cleaning the third floor, so you will have to clean the library and second west parlor by yourself, ja? Can you do that?"

He nodded, growing nervous. He wasn't afraid to clean alone, but he hadn't exactly improved, either. He was as clumsy as ever. He would just have to be very careful...

After breakfast, Emma headed upstairs to do a final sweep of the third floor and prepare the señor's rooms, while Romano headed off to the library. It was a room Señor Carriedo visited occasionally, and they hadn't cleaned it yet this week. Emma didn't want to see a single speck of dust anywhere that the señor was likely to go. He guessed they were lucky to have even received a warning. Speaking of which... the postman had come awfully early if Emma received word only this morning...

He dusted the bookshelves first, taking care to catch each and every spiderweb. Then Romano dusted all of the books, and it took quite a while. An hour later, Romano rolled the Indian rug that covered most of the floor off to the side and began mopping.

Not long after, Romano's awkwardness kicked in. He forgot to ring out the mop, and so water dripped everywhere and all over his shoes. He tried to dance around the droplets, but only ended up slipping on the soapy water and falling into the bookcase behind him. He caught the bookshelf before it crushed him, but volumes of maps and other various books fell around and on top of him. He flailed about, pushing the bookcase off of him (which thankfully wasn't too heavy) and kicking books every which way. His foot also kicked the mop bucket, spilling water all over himself and the books. He swore loudly.

Someone gasped. "What in the world...?"

The new voice was certainly not Emma's. It was smooth and rich and very Spanish. And also, very, very masculine. Romano looked up in horror from his spot on the floor, dripping wet and still holding the bookcase up.

A tall, dark-haired man stood in the doorway, gazing at the scene with confused, bright green eyes. He wore a traveling cloak over a red and gold jacket, which covered a fancy white shirt. He carried an expensive leather bag in one tan hand, and he held a tomato in the other.

Romano looked up at the man, his mouth open but no words coming out. How was he supposed to explain this? What a terrible first impression! And all of those books... ruined! He would certainly be punished, if not by Emma, then by this newcomer.

There could be no mistake. This had to be Señor Carriedo.

* * *

.

* * *

 _Tomates, berenjenas, fresas, zanahorias - tomatoes, eggplant, strawberries, carrots_

 _Comment allez-vous? Ça fait trop longtemps! - How are you? It's been too long_

 _Bonjour, Francis, je l'espère vous êtes bien - Hello, Francis, I hope you are doing well_

 _Et qui est-ce? - Who is this?_

 _Arrêtez - stop_

 _Siegneur - Señor/Sir_

 _Oui - yes_

 _Mon cher - my dear_

 _Venez ici - Come here_

 _Ne me dites pas quoi faire! - Don't tell me what to do_

 _Non - no_

 _Merci - Thank you_

 _and Antoine is the French version of Antonio_

* * *

 _My Spanish teachers would be happy to know I am finally making use of my lessons... for fanfiction writing. I don't know any French, so I apologize if any of it is translated incorrectly.  
_

 _I actually enjoyed reading about how to make flour and pasta, though I doubt I'll ever try it personally; sounds very messy... but I do loooove pasta._

 _Francis and Matthew will appear again later in the story... possibly so will Gisèle, and while I made up the name, she is a Hetalia character~ More importantly, we finally see Antonio! I'm very excited to write the upcoming chapters now that Antonio has finally joined the story :D Just as excited as I'm sure you all are to read it!_

 _Again, thank you all for the reviews and such~ I feel very happy reading each email notification!_


	4. Chapter 4

Pairing: Eventual Spain/Romano. _No_ pedo!Spain.

Rating: T

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

.

* * *

Romano didn't know what to say. There was no possible way of explaining himself without getting punished on the spot, he was sure of it. He had been hired to clean, and what had happened? He had ruined books that were probably very old and very valuable, possibly the only copies of their kind. Whatever sort of books rich people kept. And he had all but poured a bucket of soapy water over them.

He sniffled and his eyes watered. What would happen? No dinner for a week? A thousand chores to complete by tomorrow? Would they send him back to the orphanage? Romano hiccuped, wanting to wipe the tears from his eyes, but his hands were still holding the bookcase. He looked over to the doorway, keeping his eyes on the worn leather boots so he wouldn't have to see the man's angry face, and he tried not to look as scared as he felt.

"Oh my, are you all right?" the dark-haired man asked, striding into the library and setting both his bag and the tomato down onto a desk. "Here, let me help you!" The Spaniard took the weight of the bookcase from Romano's hands, shifting it back into an upright position against the wall. "Are you okay? Are you injured?" he asked the boy, crouching down, checking him over, and pulling a fallen book off Romano's head. "Did it hit you on the head?"

He certainly didn't seem angry. Romano stared at him. This... this couldn't possibly be his new boss, could it? Romano had always pictured Señor Carriedo as a fat, balding old stiff in his late forties or fifties. He had never pictured this young, handsome man, who couldn't be older than Francis. Did Señor Carriedo have a son, perhaps?

He was snapped out of his staring when the man began running his hands through Romano's hair, presumably checking for bumps and bruises. A hand came dangerously close to a particularly sensitive curl, and Romano swatted him away.

"Get off me, bastard!" he said, the swear slipping out without a second thought.

The Spaniard withdrew his hands, eyebrows raised at the insult. "Haha... what? You really must have hit your head there!"

Romano stuttered. He hadn't meant to swear, but he wasn't being scolded, in fact... This man had just laughed at him! Romano was giving him his best glare, and all this man could do was laugh at him? Romano puffed his cheeks and pursed his lips, his face growing red with embarrassment and anger. This only seemed to encourage the man.

"Oh my goodness," he chuckled, "you're such a cute little thing! Your face is turning red... just like a tomato!"

 _Cute?!_ No one called Romano cute and got away with it. Who did this jerk think he was, laughing at Romano's misfortune and calling him a _tomato_ , of all things? "Who the hell are you?" he finally squawked, stumbling to his feet and away from the man's far too close and far too cheery face.

The Spaniard stood, too, laughing again. "You can't tell?" he replied, amused. "You may call me Antonio!" He looked expectantly at the Italian, who was twisting his shirt in a nervous manner while trying to ring out some of the water.

"Romano," the boy muttered reluctantly.

Antonio? Would his boss really introduce himself like this? Not yelling over the mess, and letting Romano call him by his first name, of all things? It just didn't seem right. Maybe... this wasn't his boss. Maybe Señor Carriedo _did_ have a family, even if Emma had never mentioned them, and maybe this was his son. Or he could even be a servant, Romano supposed, although his fine clothes said otherwise.

But hadn't Francis called the señor _Antoine_? It sounded like a French (and awful) way of pronouncing Antonio, which would mean that this _was_ indeed his boss... Unless the Carriedo men all had the same name? Romano himself had inherited his own father's name at birth; however, after a childhood of neglect and mistreatment, Romano had cast that name away three years ago, never to be used again. Romano's father and mother were called so only through blood... he had never really felt that they deserved the titles of Papà and Mamma. And he certainly didn't want to share a first name with one of them. Of course, only Feliciano had complied with his wish to be called by his middle name, _Romano_ ; his parents had, as usual, ignored him.

"Hey, don't cry," a soft voice said, as a thumb swiped under his cheek and caught a tear.

Romano gasped and looked up into Antonio's concerned gaze. The Spaniard had somehow entered Romano's personal space again and had now seen him crying! Since he refused to believe that he could be crying over his so-called family, Romano decided that he must still be _that_ upset over the wet books currently scattered across the floor. He blinked back the rest of his tears and held his breath as Antonio's finger moved from his cheek to tuck a stray hair behind Romano's ear.

Once Antonio had pulled his hand back, and only after Romano was confident that he could speak without sounding like a baby, did he scoff and push the man away again.

"I was not crying!" he denied, crossing his arms protectively.

Antonio watched him carefully for a moment, before smiling. "Okay then, Romano. You sure you aren't hurt?" He waited for Romano to nod before he continued. He gestured around. "How about we pick up these wet books and take them outside to dry in the sunlight?"

Romano could only nod again as he followed the man's lead. Why this Antonio was acting so... so... _kind_ was confusing to him. Shouldn't the señor (or his son, if that was the case) just order him around and go about his important business? Rich lords weren't known for helping to clean... that's why servants existed in the first place. So for this man to act so kind... worrying over Romano's possible injuries... hefting a stack of books while shooting Romano a goofy grin... Well, kind people were idiots; they let others walk all over and take advantage of them.

His brother, Feliciano was like that. Romano had been like that, too, once. A very long time ago. And then he'd seen the truth of the harsh world around him, and he had toughened up. People like his brother... with their heads in the clouds, clinging to faith and kindness... He hated them.

If this Antonio was anything like that, Romano would end up hating him, too.

Antonio had grabbed most of the books, and Romano carried the last of them in a small pile. The book on top was written in a foreign language, possibly English, and had a picture of a snake on the cover. Lifting a few pages, Romano saw thousands of words he didn't know printed in a tiny font. All he could tell was that it definitely wasn't a bible.

They ran into Emma in the hallway.

"Oh my goodness! Señor, you're home!" she cried, hurrying forward to take the books from his hands. "I didn't even hear you come in! I'm so sorry! It's so good to see you again, though!" Antonio let her dote on him like a mother who hadn't seen her child in ages. Then she turned to Romano. "And, Romano, why are you all wet?"

"Accident," he mumbled, looking away.

"Romano and I were just going to set the books out on the table by the gardens, so they could dry in the sunlight," Antonio explained. He looked down at the boy, beaming. "His Spanish is so good already! Emma, you've outdone yourself," he praised, smiling at her modest protests. "Well, I'll leave it to you two. I have things I have to do before," he paused to yawn, "going to bed, but Romano, we'll talk later, yes?" He nodded to both of them before turning on his boots and striding back towards the front doors, cloak sweeping behind him.

Romano watched him curiously until Emma called his name from where she was already down the hall. He ran after her, catching up with her at the kitchens. They headed out to the garden area, where several circular tables decorated a corner with mismatched chairs. They spread the books across these surfaces, weighing down the covers with rocks. Romano flipped the pages, loosening them so that the wind could dry them out.

"I see you met the señor," Emma said at last, resting in one of the chairs.

He dropped the book he'd been holding. "So that really is Señor Carriedo?" Romano asked, leaning down to retrieve the fallen item.

It seemed that kind and happy man he'd just met really _was_ Señor Carriedo. Romano wasn't sure how he felt about that. He'd only spoken with the señor (or should he start calling him Antonio now?) for a few minutes, but the man reminded him of Feliciano, making stupid comments and touching him with no regard to personal boundaries. Romano would have to watch himself. He'd already accidentally sworn in front of his new boss, and the man had barely touched him. It would be so much easier if the man was aloof or cruel... Then, at least, if Romano responded aggressively, it would be justified.

"Of course," Emma replied. "Why do you ask such a question?"

He focused his attention on the book, trying not to sound stupid. "Well, he... He told me to call him 'Antonio'... And he's..." _Too happy_. "...young. I thought he was the señor's son."

Emma raised her eyebrows before her expression became thoughtful. "Señor Carriedo is already in his twenties, so he's not so young... though, perhaps if you were expecting someone my age, I can see why you would think that. As for a son, the señor has no children," she told him.

She made no further comments on Antonio Carriedo's family, and her tone seemed to suggest that Romano refrain from asking any more questions on the subject.

When they had finished arranging the books under the sun, they headed back inside, where Emma told Romano to change out of his nicer clothes and into his work ones. First, they finished cleaning up the library, and then they returned to the kitchens, where Emma set Romano to work chopping vegetables for lunch, while she headed off to the third floor to see if the señor would be dining with them. Emma said that Señor Carriedo always ate his breakfasts and suppers alone in the dining room; however, sometimes he would join her (and now Romano too) for a small lunch. For the time being, Emma would prepare the suppers herself, but Romano would help out with the earlier two meals.

Romano finished chopping one carrot and moved on to the next.

"Señor Carrideo has retired for the day," Emma announced as she reentered the room.

Romano was surprised; it was barely afternoon, and the man had already turned in? "Is he taking a siesta?" he asked, making room for Emma to join him at the counter.

She laughed. "Sort of. The señor... he has difficulty sleeping at night, so he will often sleep during the day. He is also understandably tired from his long journey. He was gone for almost six months this time."

Six months? As they prepared a light stew, Romano wondered what sort of journeys the man took. He knew that the señor often went out of town, but what exactly did he do? Was the man a merchant? Were these business trips? Or perhaps, the Spaniard was just so rich that he could afford a vacation like that. However, that also meant that Emma had been alone a lot of the time... Hadn't she been searching for help for almost a year or so, before he had arrived? And before that, the previous servant boys who'd been hired, none of them stayed long, from what Emma had told him. Emma had been doing all of the housework by herself, almost ever since her brother died, Romano guessed. Though, maybe Señor Carriedo (it felt odd calling his boss by his first name, so he was sticking with the formal title) had helped out a bit? He didn't seem like the type to be a slave-driver.

After lunch, they went back to cleaning for a few hours, before Emma sent Romano off to the classroom to continue his studying. Emma congratulated him on his speaking, reminding him how the señor had been impressed. However, she wanted Romano to become fluent in Spanish, not only in speaking, but reading and writing as well, so the lessons would continue. And because Romano had picked up Spanish so easily, Emma was determined to make him fluent in English as well. "The señor deals with a lot of Englishmen," she reminded him. Romano was currently struggling to translate the story about the little cinder girl from Italian to Spanish.

 _'Ha dovuto lavorare sodo tutto il giorno, e solo quando fu sera è stata lei permesso di sedere per un po accanto al fuoco, nei pressi delle cenere. È così che ha ottenuto lei soprannome, per tutti la chiamavano Cenerentola.'_

"She worked hard all day... in the evening, she... stood by the fire," he muttered, scribbling down the words. " _Allowed_ to stand by the fire... near the ashes..." Once he read the words properly, it was easy enough to say it in Italian, but translating it to Spanish and then writing it down again was an entirely different task.

Hours later after he'd had to light a candle when the sun had sank beneath the horizon, Romano was still scrawling away on his parchment, eyes flickering between the storybook and his handwriting, when the door opened and Emma came into the room with haste.

"Romano, that's enough for tonight," she said, urging him to stand up. "I'll look it over tomorrow. For now, I need you to quickly eat and then go take a bath. Then I want you to put on one of Lux's nicer vests I will lay out for you and your dress shoes."

She startled him by grabbing his elbow and leading him along when he was slow to move. Romano had been surprised at first, but then he had been dreading trying to find his way to the bathroom in the dark, so he had lagged, hoping Emma would just take him there herself. He hadn't expected her to move so quickly though. He thought over the rest of her request.

"You want me to put on my nice shoes again?" he asked, following her.

"Yes. The señor wants to see you in his study," she explained, ushering him into the kitchen. "For a _proper_ meeting," she added, setting a plate down. Romano ate speedily.

A proper meeting. What exactly did that entail? Romano supposed their encounter earlier hadn't been the best: the señor walked in on him after he made a mess. Oh no, was he going to scold Romano for that? Maybe the siesta had cleared his head and now he was realizing how many expensive books Romano had damaged. Or perhaps the señor was sending him back to Italy after all? Romano wouldn't blame the señor if he did, although he would miss Emma.

After supper, the woman scrubbed him down from head to toe in the bathtub, until his hair shined and his skin was raw and pink. She ran a comb through his hair, but no matter how hard Emma tried, that one rebellious curl refused to lay flat. She licked her thumb and tried to press it down, and Romano swallowed nervously. Why was she so concerned with him looking nice? The señor had already seen him that morning in his best clothes, even if they had been covered by a work apron. So why did Emma want him to look so presentable...

What if the señor really _did_ want to send him back, and Emma was trying to make him look as good as possible to make the man change his mind? Romano's head was spinning as Emma dried him off and led him back to the bedrooms. He barely registered as she pulled a clean shirt over his head and helped him into a pair of breeches. He only came to when he noticed the dark green vest he was now wearing, with tiny leaves stitched into the fabric in a black thread. It was beautiful.

After he put on his shoes, Emma gave him one last look over before she nodded resolutely and led the way downstairs. They were headed for the large study room in the east wing. Romano had only cleaned in there once, when he'd almost broken a tiny, golden bull; Emma had suggested she do the cleaning in that room from then on, so he hadn't been there since.

They stopped in front of the door, which was open just enough for Romano to see fire light flickering across the rug.

"I'll be right out here in case you need me to translate something," Emma said, straightening his socks. "But do your best, Romano! I know you'll be fine." She smiled and gave him a push, forcing him into the room. She closed the door behind him.

So much for being _right there_ , he thought. Now if he needed something translated, he would have to make a scene out of it by going over and opening the door to call her in.

"Come closer, boy, don't dawdle," the señor's voice instructed, making Romano jump.

The man was sitting in a cushy armchair by the fire, not looking at Romano but instead staring into the flames. Although the large, ornate fireplace was lit, everything about the room seemed darker. Señor Carriedo stood and turned to him suddenly, and Romano briefly wondered if this was even the same person he'd met earlier. Something about the man was off... His skin, hair, clothes, even his green eyes looked darker to Romano. It was just the shadows cast by the fire, but still... Romano felt anxious.

Señor Carriedo regarded him cautiously, simply staring for a long while. Finally, he spoke again. "Well? Are you going to stand over there all day or what? No need to be so nervous, Romano."

The boy hiccuped and shuffled over to the señor.

"Now, let's have a look at you, shall we?" the Spaniard said, circling him like a hawk. "How old are you, Romano?"

"Eleven, señor."

Señor Carriedo stopped his pacing, eying him. "Eleven, you say? You don't look older than eight, judging by your small height and frame. You worked on your family's farm before coming here, correct?"

Romano felt like a mouse being stalked by a cat. Maybe the man wasn't as carefree and stupid as he had first thought.

"Yes, señor." The man waited for him to elaborate. "It was a small farm, with just chickens and goats."

Señor Carriedo clicked his tongue, resuming his pacing. "Hmm, yes, I can tell you haven't done much hard manual labor. Your accident this morning was not your first, I take it." His suspicions were confirmed by Romano's guilty look. "Not good at dusting or mopping... But Emma says you are good at cooking and gardening, so I suppose it's a start. Tell me, Romano, did you have any prior education?"

As insulted as he felt at being picked apart and judged piece by piece, he had to admit that this was more how he pictured meeting his boss for the first time. He shook his head. "No, señor, I only stayed at home on the farm. We... lived outside the city and it was a long walk into town. We only went to town for holiday mass and an occasional shopping trip."

"Are you religious?" the señor asked, studying him.

Romano tried not to cower. "Not particularly... I thought mass was interesting, but we didn't attend enough for me to understand it," he added, in case his lack of church-going made him a heathen.

Señor Carriedo nodded. "Good, good... And your family? Tell me about them."

"My parents are dead, and my brother is in Austria."

"One more thing," he concluded. "Emma tells me you love tomatoes?"

Romano blushed, but he nodded. Why did the man have to bring that up? He felt horribly judged, though he really shouldn't: Señor Carriedo himself had an entire _field_ of tomatoes.

"Well, I love tomatoes, too, Romano," the señor explained. "In fact, I'm sure by now that you have seen my tomato fields."

Romano nodded. "Why do you have so many?" he asked, forgetting to hold his tongue.

The man smiled wryly. "Tomatoes are good for your health." Abruptly, Señor Carriedo stopped in front of Romano and looked him square in the eye. "Let's go over the rules, shall we? I believe Emma has already explained things to you, but I want to stress them again."

And here came the scolding Romano had expected all along...

"Rule Number One: the third floor is forbidden," the Spaniard declared, watching the boy's face for acknowledgment. "Those are my private quarters, and only Emma is allowed to clean there. I do not trust you enough yet to allow you there, under any circumstances, do you understand?"

Romano nodded quickly. He had already been told this, but hearing Señor Carriedo say it made it sound like there would be major punishment if Romano was caught up there.

"Even if you hear me screaming, do not go up there," the señor instructed. "Get Emma instead."

Romano played with the buttons on his vest. "But what if–"

"I don't care if you think I'm dying," the man cut across, scaring him into silence. "You will not go up to the third floor, _do you_ _understand_?"

"Yes, señor," he replied quietly. Señor Carriedo's voice had taken a graver tone, and it was starting to scare him. It was so dark in the room that Romano couldn't see the man's green irises, so his eyes just seemed to be almost completely black, making him look all the more threatening.

"Rule Number Two: never let anyone into the house unless Emma or I tell you that it is all right. I am not fond of strangers, Romano, and you would do well to remember that."

Romano nodded again, shivering despite the warmth from the fire.

"Rule Number Three: you will never, I repeat _never_ go into my tomato fields. I know you love gardening and tomatoes, and yes, I know they are delicious, but my tomato garden is _off limits_. Do you hear?"

Romano shook his head up and down fiercely. "Y-yes!" he squeaked, taking a step back at the man's intense stare.

"Which leads me to Rule Number Four... Never eat _any_ of the tomatoes from my garden. This is the most important rule, and you will seriously regret it if you do not obey me, Romano," Señor Carriedo threatened dangerously.

The boy's amber eyes grew wide. Seriously? He was threatening him over some tomatoes? If Romano wasn't afraid of being sent back to the orphanage, he would probably scoff out loud.

"You may think it silly," the señor said, as if reading his mind, "but those tomatoes take an incredibly long time to grow, and they are very important to my health. You are free to grow your own tomatoes in the smaller garden, but you will not, never _ever_ , under _any_ circumstances _whatsoever,_ eat one of those tomatoes. Trust me, Romano, I will be very cross, and you will be very sorry. Do I make myself clear?"

Romano managed to nod affirmatively, since he found he had lost his voice. Threatening him over some tomatoes... it was something that should be laughable, but the look on the man's face and the harsh sound of his voice... his new boss was terrifying!

Señor Carriedo dismissed him then, telling him they would talk again tomorrow. Romano hurriedly bid him goodnight and bolted from the room, stopping only to bid Emma a goodnight as well.

* * *

Emma watched as Romano walked down the hall towards the stairs, his steps a bit more forced and a bit quicker than they normally would be. Sighing and shaking her head, she walked into the study, closing the door.

Antonio looked up at the intrusion, but he went back to his business when he saw that it was only Emma. She approached and found that he was scouring a map of the Russian Empire, particularly Estonia.

"Here to scold me for being too harsh?" he asked, continuing to study the map.

"Of course not," she replied promptly. "Though if I may say so, I am surprised you told him to call you Antonio."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I would take it back, if only tomorrow morning I wouldn't change my mind again. I don't know why I said it, Emma," he replied, almost moaning.

She smiled sympathetically. "I know how hard it is for you. So... when are you going to tell him?"

Antonio practically fell over, his arm slipping out from under him as he steadied himself on a bookcase. " _Tell him?_ You mean _Romano?_ "

Emma rolled her eyes. "Who else would I be referring to? Yes, Romano! Señor, he's been living here for two months already. And you probably scared him to death just now. He's bound to notice something eventually." She grew quiet, her voice almost a whisper. "Remember what happened with Carlos?"

Antonio looked confused. "Who?"

"The Cuban boy," she reminded him.

The señor hissed. "I thought we agreed never to speak of him again!"

"I know, but hear me out," Emma soothed, helping as he began gathering the maps and folding them away. "You started out on good terms with him, but he grew suspicious over time. When he found out, it... it didn't end well for him."

"I remember," Antonio responded sharply, glancing at his hands. "And that's exactly why I _can't_ tell Romano. We need him, Emma. I'll just be extra careful."

She frowned, putting away the last of the books. "You already told him to call you by your first name. That's not exactly being careful! If he finds out the way Carlos did, Antonio... You really should just tell him. You obviously like him enough, if you can tell me 'we _need_ him'. He has to know eventually."

Antonio sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I know, all right? It's just... he's still so young... And I had really hoped for someone better at cleaning, but he's the best so far and I don't want you to go another year doing the housework by yourself."

Emma watched her boss struggle internally with whatever he was thinking. "Antonio, if you decide you want to get rid of him, you know I won't stop you. I can handle a few chores alone if it's for the best," she said kindly, patting him on the back.

"I know, Emma, thank you," he replied, taking her hand and squeezing it. "For now... just keep Romano out of the way, all right? Send him to bed early, whatever you have to do." She nodded. "Is there anything else we need to discuss before I go back upstairs?"

"Yes, actually, there is," Emma told him worriedly. "I went into town yesterday and spoke to Francis. Oh, don't give me that look, Antonio, he's a nice man, if a bit foolish. But he told me some very concerning news..."

She proceeded to tell him about the rumors Francis had heard lately and of his cousin Alfred's kidnapping. Antonio was silent throughout her story, though his frown deepened and his brows furrowed with every word.

"Doctor Williams seemed to believe me when I told him you had nothing to do with the disappearances, and Francis said that they don't even know if the missing boys are the same ones who worked here," Emma finished explaining. "Well, on second thought, I suppose Carlos _would_ confirm their suspicions, but he wasn't from here, so I don't know if they could track down his family."

Antonio hummed in agreement, still frowning. "This is bad news, indeed," he muttered darkly. "And you're sure this Alfred boy was kidnapped by a man in a green cloak?"

"That's what Doctor Williams said. I do not think he would lie about such a thing. I did not tell Francis or Doctor Williams, but... I am sure you and I are thinking of the same culprit."

She watched as Antonio began pacing about the room. After several minutes, he stopped and looked at her solemnly.

"If that is true... then Alfred is as good as dead."

Emma had suspected this as a possibility, but she had really been hoping for the señor to say otherwise. She clapped a hand over her mouth. "You really think so?"

"You said this doctor is blond, correct? And that, according to him, his brother Alfred looks exactly like him?" She nodded slowly. "Then there is a very high chance that the boy has already left this world," Antonio said seriously. "Though, we have more important matters to concern ourselves with."

He glanced up at a map of _España_ framed against the wall.

"What the hell is he doing back in Spain?" Antonio wondered. He pondered the question for a while, stroking his chin. "This could be problematic for us, should he go on the offensive. Though, with what he's been up to lately, and now this kidnapping, I doubt that is the case. Most likely, he will try to keep hidden. However..."

He turned to Emma, a strange glint in his eye.

"With Arthur Kirkland back in my territory, this makes it much easier for me to hunt the bastard down."

* * *

.

* * *

 _Ha dovuto lavorare sodo tutto il giorno, e solo quando fu sera è stata lei permesso di sedere per un po accanto al fuoco, nei pressi delle cenere. È così che ha ottenuto lei soprannome, per tutti la chiamavano Cenerentola - "For she had to work hard all day, and only when it was evening was she allowed to sit for a while by the fire, near the cinders. That is how she got her nickname, for everyone called her Cinderella."  
_

* * *

 _Well, well, Spain finally shows up... bringing the plot with him perhaps? I probably gave you all more questions than answers, didn't I!_

 _How do you like Antonio? I can't wait to write more interaction between him and Romano~ Even though he is 11 yrs old here, in my mind, I picture chibi!Romano when writing this, because, let's face it, that tomato-faced brat is adorable. The segments of Spain the Boss and Chibi Romano are my favorites._

 _In the 1860s, Estonia was a part of Russia, after Sweden lost the territory in the Great Northern War. Poor Estonia._

 _Thank you all for your support!_


	5. Chapter 5

Pairing: Eventual Spain/Romano

Rating: T

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

 **.**

* * *

Señor Carriedo was already up and moving about the kitchen when Romano came downstairs the next morning, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. He hadn't slept as well last night as he had in the weeks since coming here, but he suspected that had something to do with how the señor acted yesterday. The man had been all smiles and laughs in the morning, but after the siesta, the señor had been... stricter, more serious, more how Romano pictured a lord would act. True, this should hardly be considered out of character (especially for a man he barely knew), but Romano had an inkling that something was amiss.

As he entered the kitchen, soft humming reached Romano's ears. Listening, he realized the hums were actually words. Señor Carriedo was singing.

" _Vueltas y vueltas, mano a mano, formar un círculo y bailan en rondo. Estampar sus pies y bailar un carolare~_ "

Most of it was done in a sort of slurred, sing-song voice that Romano couldn't understand, but he did hear the word 'dance' in there a few times. The señor sang as he cooked, hovering over a simmering pan in the fireplace. " _La paella es muy caliente_ ," he crooned, throwing seasoning into the pan. His voice actually sounded nice, and that made Romano annoyed for some reason.

"What's a paella?" Romano asked loudly by way of greeting.

Startled by the Italian, the Spaniard tried to stand up quickly and turn around, but he only succeeded in banging his head on the roof of the fireplace. Wincing and caressing his head, the señor carefully extracted himself from the smoky pit and faced Romano.

"Good morning, Roma!" he greeted, his eyes practically sparkling. "And how are you on this lovely morning?"

Thrown off by the man's demeanor, which had apparently shifted back overnight, Romano gaped at him openly for a few moments before smartly shutting his mouth. What the hell? The señor's threatening attitude last night had been unexpected after yesterday morning, but Romano had assumed that maybe his boss had just been sleep deprived after his journey. It wasn't like the rules were impossible to follow, anyway; stay off the third floor... don't let in strangers... stay out of the garden... don't eat the 'special' tomatoes... Strange rules, but nothing Romano thought he couldn't handle. After the accident yesterday, he was just thankful he hadn't been sent back to Italy. So a strict Señor Carriedo, Romano was ready to deal with.

This singing, happy, _beaming_ Spaniard? He didn't know how to respond.

Wait, _Roma?_

"Don't call me that, baster-er... _señor_ ," he screeched, barely catching himself.

Señor Carriedo laughed and placed his hands on his hips, regarding the boy thoughtfully. "Haha, what, _Roma?_ But it's such a cute name! Only the cutest name for the cutest henchmen of mine~!"

Romano was at a loss. "...what?"

The señor ruffled his hair. "You're like my little henchman! And I'm the boss!" He pulled his hand back and stroked his own chin. "No need to call me, _señor_ , Roma; that's so old and stuffy-sounding! You can just call me Antonio or Boss!" A giant smile followed this declaration.

When Romano failed to respond, Antonio shrugged and went back to cooking.

Cooking. Wasn't Romano supposed to make the señor, err, _Antonio's_ breakfast? Damn it.

"Do you want me t-to do th-that?" he stammered, hoping to avoid another scolding later. "I'm supposed to cook the breakfast..."

Antonio looked over his shoulder from where he stood at the fire, with large, blinking eyes. His face broke into another wide grin. "That's very sweet, Roma, but I'll make it today!"

"Stop calling me Roma, you bastard!" he snapped, language be damned. His boss was calling him _Roma_ and thought he was _sweet_. How did this even happen?

Antonio frowned and sniffled. "Roma, how could you say such a thing to your poor boss? Such language!"

The man had just _sniffled_. This grown man was acting like a wounded child! "Stop calling me that," Romano growled, growing even more irritated as Antonio's smile spread.

"Nope!"

"Then don't get mad if I swear," Romano argued, inching closer to see what was in the pan. "What are you making, bastard?"

Tears were almost falling from the Spaniard's eyes. "Such vulgar words from a child!" he whined. "Don't let Emma hear you, or she'll stick a bar of soap in your mouth," he warned, before turning back to the pan. "This is paella, Roma. It's a tasty dish of rice and rabbit! Do you want to join me?"

Antonio wanted to share his meal... with Romano? The boy struggled to understand why this lord was being so... kind. The man had made this rich, _rabbit_ dish himself, and now he wanted to share it with Romano, a servant? Why would he do such a thing? There had to be a reason... People like Antonio weren't nice without reason; what was his boss up to?

"Did you burn it?" he asked suspiciously.

The man whined again. "Of course not! Boss just wants to share a delicious meal with his favorite henchman–what's so wrong with that?"

Despite wanting to keep his guard up, Romano couldn't stop his stomach from letting out a loud growl that moment. Antonio waggled his eyebrows victoriously as the boy sat down at the table in defeat. After a few more minutes, the Spaniard put two full plates on the table and sat down, too.

Romano tried not to look impressed, but the paella was indeed _delicious_. The rice was soft but firm, and the vegetables had soaked up the perfect amount of flavor. _Oh_ , and the rabbit! He had never imagined tasting such a delicacy. His tongue was in heaven. While anything could taste good if he was hungry enough, Romano could tell that Antonio was a good cook. Not that he would ever let the man know, of course.

"So," the Spaniard prodded, "how is it?" He had been watching Romano's expression change as he savored each different flavor.

Romano swallowed a large spoonful, which probably contradicted his statement, and answered, "It's okay, I guess." He suspected by the Spaniard's grin that Antonio could see right through him. He spent the rest of the meal avoiding those glass-green eyes, staring solely at his plate.

Almost fifteen minutes later, Emma came hobbling down the stairs, holding a bedsheet. Romano sunk lower in his chair. Unfortunately, he had had another little accident last night. He'd forgotten to put that in the laundry room before she found it.

"Romano, what is the meaning of this?" she scolded, shaking the sheet. "And don't tell me it was those squirrels again!" She stopped when she noticed Antonio was also at the table. "Forgive me, señor, I did not see you there!" She immediately scuttled around to tidy things, but he waved her off.

"Morning, Emma," he greeted, then pointed at the warm pan. "There's some paella left if you want it."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly! You cooked it, you should savor it," she replied, and Romano noticed her eying his plate with disdain. He began to eat quickly so that he could rush off to start on his morning chores.

Emma cleared her throat, looking pointedly at the boy and shaking the sheet again. "Well? Explain." Both she and Antonio stared expectantly.

He blushed, particularly avoiding the Spaniard's questioning gaze. "I told you... it was the squirrels!"

Antonio frowned. "Squirrels? There are squirrels in my castle?"

"Of course not," Emma replied curtly. "Romano, that may have worked on me before, but there have been no squirrels, and now I am convinced this is your doing. I'm going through laundry twice as fast now because of you. So tell me, what is wrong?"

His cheeks were positively flaming now. He couldn't tell them, especially not his boss, who'd just shared his fancy rabbit rice. Romano couldn't bear to tell them that he couldn't find his way to the bathroom at night. That he would wander for an hour or two before luckily finding his room again and willing himself to hold it until the morning. How silly would that be, after two months of living here, that he still got lost? Besides... Romano _had_ actually seen a squirrel last week! It might have been outside his window... but still! There's a chance it got into the house and was relieving itself in Romano's bed.

"It was the squirrel, I'm telling you!" he cried, pushing his chair back and fleeing from the table. He dashed from the kitchen and out through the back door. He ran as fast as his short legs would carry him, slowing down only once he had reached the gardens.

He probably should have cleaned the south parlor first (his room to clean for this morning), but Romano didn't feel up to it at the moment. Knowing his luck, he'd probably break something valuable and then be in trouble for both the soiled bedsheets _and_ whatever he broke. He shouldn't have run off like that; he'd be in for a word with Emma later. However, he just couldn't tell them the truth. So he did what he always did when it came to dealing with his problems: he ignored them and ran away.

He had done that often back on the family farm. His parents would yell at him for one thing or another, so he'd escape out into the wheat field or hide in the chicken coops. Then he'd come back hours later, after they had either forgotten or moved on to complaining about something else.

Romano carefully checked each and every plant in the garden. Many of them were out of season, but surprisingly they were all doing all right. The air would be colder this month, and he had already asked Emma to buy some canvas next time she went out shopping. She had found it an odd request, but Romano knew from experience that canvas was good at protecting plants from the cold and the rain.

He crouched down by the tomatoes. Although, according to Emma, tomatoes were at their peak in the summer, these fruits seemed to look as ripe as ever. They had perked up immediately after Romano had begun tending to them. He guessed the seed batch must have been a good one. Or maybe they just enjoyed his conversation.

"You tomatoes have it so easy," he told them, pulling a few weeds. "You get to sit out here all day, soaking up water and sunshine until you're big and juicy. And then I'll eat you~" He hummed a bit, inspecting one of the larger fruits.

"Oh my, this is quite the garden!" Antonio's voice boomed as the man came to stand next to Romano. "I am very impressed, Roma!"

Romano's shoulders tensed, waiting for the inevitable tongue-lashing that was sure to come. He should be numb to it by now, with all of the screaming, punishing, and neglecting his parents had done. He could barely remember a time when his family had _actually_ been a family. It had to be back before Feliciano had left for Venice, before Romano was even six years old, because after his little brother had left, their parents had grown cold and distant. He didn't really have any happy memories before that though, as his parents had never been the best. But he could remember his mother cooking for them, how she would sometimes let Romano stir the pot. He remembered his father taking him fishing once at a nearby lake. His parents had never really been the loving sort, but they had never yelled back then. After Feliciano went away with their distant grandfather, his parents had changed. It was gradual and not abrupt, but within a year, they had changed into lazy, bickering, selfish people who forced him to do all of the work. They treated him more like a slave than a son, and they became strangers to Romano.

When Feliciano had moved back in after their grandfather's death, his parents still refused to do anything around the farm, but they had switched to ignoring him altogether rather than seeking him out to yell and berate him for a horrible job. Soon after, they had taken ill and couldn't leave their beds at all. Romano had spent at least four or five years toiling away on the farm with nothing but lectures and scars to show for it. He shouldn't care if he disappointed his boss and Emma; he'd been disappointing people for years. Why should working here be any different?

But it _was_ different.

Antonio squatted down beside him, an encouraging smile on his face. "These look really good," he said, gesturing to the tomatoes. "Your parents must have taught you well."

Romano violently yanked the weed he'd been clenching out of the ground. His parents? Teach him well? Those two hadn't taught Romano anything! He had watched his father tend the farm and he had watched his mother cook and clean, but they had never really _taught_ him anything. He had been thrust into running the farm with only his memories, having to learn most of it by himself. And now Antonio was giving all of the credit to the two people who hadn't lifted a finger to help him, not once?

"What would you know, bastard?" he answered angrily. "You don't know anything about me."

"That's true, Roma," the man replied gently. Romano could feel the sympathy rolling off of Antonio in waves. Sympathy he didn't want or need – he scrubbed at his eyes. "But I'd like to know more," Antonio continued. "You're my henchman now; Boss wants to know all about you!"

Romano huffed. "Slim chance," he muttered. No way was he about to dive into his pathetic family story with anyone. It was none of their business.

Antonio smiled. "But a chance nonetheless, yes? That's okay, Roma, I'll earn that chance, then." He patted the boy's back, chuckling when Romano swore and shoved him off. "Well, I'm off to do my own gardening, so I'll see you later." The Spaniard stood, brushing off his knees and looking over to his tomato field.

"Why do you have a separate tomato garden, bastard?" Romano asked, following his line of vision. "What's so special about them and why can't I try one?"

Antonio turned back, his eyes slightly narrowed and a tiny frown on his lips. He shook his head and the smile was back, causing Romano to wonder if he had imagined things.

"I'm sorry, Roma, but those tomatoes are necessary to my health," he explained, his voice an odd, hollow-sort of cheery. "They take a very long time to grow, so I have to treasure the ones that make it. I cannot... they cannot be shared with anyone."

He wanted to call Antonio out on the lie, at least Romano was fairly sure he was being lied to, but then he remembered how _he_ had just lied about the bedsheet. He tilted his head as he studied his boss, looking for any unusual signs of illness.

"So, what, bastard, you've got a strange disease or something?" he inquired.

Antonio scratched his head sheepishly. "Or something."

He had a feeling that the man was lying about something, but Romano couldn't tell what. He decided to probe a bit more. "So... the tomatoes are like medicine? They help you stay well?"

"Exactly!" Antonio agreed, nodding eagerly. Romano could find nothing suspicious about the gesture. "The tomatoes are kind of like a medicine to me... they would taste horrible to you, Roma."

Romano was still suspicious. He had never heard of anyone using tomatoes as medicine. Of course, he had grown up believing them to be poisonous, and weren't poisons and medicine interconnected? They both had origins in plants, at least. He sighed. He should probably stop being so suspicious of his boss. Maybe the man really was just a happy sap like his brother. With a weird disease.

"All right then," he conceded. "Go care for your nasty tomatoes and let me be, bastard," he ordered, shooing the Spaniard away.

Antonio laughed and backed away, waving goodbye to Romano. Then he strolled off to his own tomato field, Romano watching until all he could see of the man was his brown mop of hair, peeking over the tomato plants.

Feeling confused, Romano puffed his cheeks and returned to pulling weeds. Why should he care what ailed that tomato bastard? Antonio was just another in what was sure to be a long line of bosses for Romano. He wasn't sure when his indentured servitude would end, but Romano guessed probably when he turned eighteen. Seven years was a long ways away. Would Antonio's health make it that far? For some reason, Romano didn't want to think about that, so he threw himself into his gardening.

Around noon, Romano returned to the house to clean up and then finish his inside chores. Emma, unlikely to have forgotten about the dirty sheets, was choosing not to press the issue it seemed. She was slightly less friendly than usual, but Romano did his best to be polite. Aside from his usual fits of clumsiness, the rest of the day passed without incident.

Emma announced that Antonio had retired early again, and Romano did not see the man again that night.

* * *

Over the next several weeks, nothing much changed in the routine of the mansion. Some mornings, Antonio would join Romano for breakfast, often helping with the cooking. Romano allowed him, outwardly acting as if it was a big deal and that Antonio's cooking was only so-so, while on the inside, he secretly enjoyed it. The Spaniard would always add one of the forbidden tomatoes to his own portion after dishing out the plates; Romano found it ridiculous for the man to add tomatoes after the fact; it would be better for them to cook with the meal and get nice and cooked. But Antonio was insistent that Romano not touch a single one of his precious tomatoes. These were the only times when the man's constant smile would falter. Romano tried to avoid the topic altogether, but his curiosity would get the better of him from time to time.

Other mornings, Antonio would be nowhere in sight; on these occasions, Romano usually wouldn't see his boss for the entire day.

After breakfast, Romano would clean, generally a room on the first floor. Antonio had joined him a few times, watching as Romano knocked over shelves, overturned chairs, and even broke a small vase once. Antonio never yelled at him for these mistakes, but the man would always hover over him, concerned. His boss promised he would find a way to help Romano, though the boy knew it was a lost cause. There wasn't a cure for clumsiness.

Just before lunch, Romano would head outside, checking the garden and chicken coops. Sometimes Antonio would go with him, always trying to make friendly conversation. Romano never gave in to the man's questions, but he could feel his resolve slipping. Antonio was certainly annoying, but he also seemed to be genuinely interested in getting to know Romano, and that made the Italian uncomfortable. He had kept people out for so long, he wasn't sure he was ready to let anyone back in. So he kept up his wall, deflecting the Spaniard's comments and calling him a bastard at every chance. He almost missed that distant, nonindulgent Antonio he'd met that first night.

Despite spending his mornings out in the tomato field and eating tomatoes with every meal, Antonio's health didn't seem to be improving. He always retired to the third floor before or around lunchtime, not to be seen again until the next morning. Occasionally when he would get up to find the bathroom, Romano would hear noises coming from upstairs at night, and he wondered what could be keeping the man up so late.

On one such toilet excursion, Romano found he could hear nothing coming from the third floor above him as he attempted to navigate the labyrinth of halls.

"Maybe the bastard is actually getting some sleep," he mused.

Romano stopped walking as he came upon his bedroom again. Great, back where he started. He supposed that he could always go back to bed, like he always did after giving up, and wait til the morning. However, he had just ruined yet another sheet yesterday, and he didn't want to upset Emma for a second day in a row. Not to mention, Antonio was becoming awfully suspicious, even once offering to stand watch over Romano's door to make sure no squirrels got in. Although he had vehemently refused, Romano had been cautious for a few days after that, listening for the sound of breathing outside his door before opening it, afraid that Antonio might have decided to carry out his plan without his henchman's permission.

Not wanting to incite Emma's growing wrath, Romano chose to venture downstairs. Perhaps he would be able to find a bathroom down here faster. He was ashamed that even after almost half a year, he still didn't know his way around the castle in the dark. Directions were not his strong suit.

He shivered as he entered the cold kitchen. December was upon them, and the nights were quite cold. Soon, Romano would have to start covering the garden to protect the plants from frost. Good thing Emma had bought a lot of canvas; she had even managed to find a waterproof one, for which he was very grateful.

His candle, which was almost out, flickered as he passed the grand dining room. People always had to use the lavatory after eating, right? So there should be a bathroom around here somewhere... If only Romano could recall where.

He opened every door in sight, but none of them were hiding the toilet he sought. Damn, he _really_ had to go. Romano opened the next door only to realize he had made his way across the mansion and opened the _front_ door. The cold wind blew through his bones, and Romano let a whimper escape past his lips. He made to shut the door, his candle flickering fiercely in the breeze before going out completely.

"Damn it," he swore loudly, the closing of the door muffling his voice somewhat. Now how was he supposed to find his way around? He thanked whatever part of the universe had decided to take pity on him that there were no clouds tonight. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could partially see the outlines of the hallway wherever moonlight flowed through a window.

He carefully made his way back towards the kitchen, only bumping into a few things along the way. He would just have to return to bed after all, before his self-control gave out and he had an accident right here on the floor. He turned and entered what he thought was the kitchen, but it was actually the boss's study. He could dimly see the fireplace's fancy mantle. How had he ended up in a wing far from where he wanted to be? Groaning in frustration, Romano spun on his heel to head back the other way.

He didn't get very far, as something latched onto the back of his collar and forcefully pulled him back into the room. Romano was slammed against the wall next to the door, a hand tightly closing around his throat. He choked and clawed at the hand restraining him, only to have his hands trapped together above his head by the person's other hand.

" _What do you think you are doing?_ " his attacker hissed. The voice was low and sinister but also familiar somehow; Romano tried to place it, but the grip on his throat was making it hard to concentrate.

Although his vision was still swimming from the impact his head had made with the wall, Romano could see a silhouette in the faint moonlight. A mop of unruly hair... it couldn't be...! He tried to speak but the man only pressed his hand further into his throat.

" _How did you break into my house?_ " his attacker growled, squeezing Romano's wrists painfully. " _Who sent you?_ "

He felt tears drip down his cheeks as he struggled to breathe. He tried to call out Antonio's name, but it was no use; the man was pinning him down with too much strength. _Why_ was he pinning him down? Romano was only a child still; he barely came up to Antonio's chest... how could he be mistaken for an intruder? The man seemed to be crushing him with everything he had, as if he didn't register Romano's height or size at all. He stupidly wondered how Antonio expected someone to answer when they were being choked to death.

If only Emma was awake. _Emma, please help me! Wake up, I need you!_

Romano stopped struggling, trying to conserve his energy. Even if he could speak, he couldn't call for anyone; Emma was probably sound asleep upstairs and wouldn't hear him, and Antonio was right in front of him, determined to strangle the life out of him. Antonio was holding him against the wall at eye level, Romano's feet dangling above the floor. _His feet...!_

He kicked Antonio hard in the knee. Although it was weak and didn't harm the man, Romano had clearly caught him by surprise as the grip around his neck slackened. That was all he needed.

"An...to...ni...o," he gasped. His voice came out as nothing more than a weak sob, but it was understandable and that was all that mattered. "Anto...nio... it's me..."

The Spaniard froze, hearing Romano's cries. Romano was promptly dropped to the floor, and flames suddenly sprung up inside the fireplace, illuminating the room. Tears were streaming down his face as Romano placed a hand over his throat, ready to protect it from another attack. He curled into the wall, trying to put as much distance between him and his boss. He would have ran from the room if he didn't lack the strength to do so.

"Romano...?" Antonio's voice was a horrified whisper. Romano blinked through his tears to see the Spaniard on the opposite side of the room, backed against the grate of the fireplace. His eyes were wide with fear, a hand covering his mouth in dismay. "Oh my god, Romano..." He took a step forward, causing Romano to whimper and fling his arms up in defense.

Romano heard swift footsteps as someone entered the room then. Emma appeared in the doorway, muttering about something being wrong. She spotted her boss first, before she heard Romano's heavy breathing and attended to him.

"O mijn God," she cried in Dutch, hurrying to Romano's side. He immediately clung to her like a lifeline, sobbing into her nightgown. She looked to Antonio. "What happened here? Antonio?" she asked, not even bothering to address him by _señor_ as she usually did.

"I... I..." Antonio had no words to explain himself.

Emma pried Romano away from her dress, checking him over. She gasped loudly as she examined his neck, presumably where a bruise was already forming. She looked back to Antonio. "Antonio, what have you done?"

The Spaniard again had no answer. Giving Romano one last horrified glance, Antonio shifted and ran from the room. Romano stared after him in shock, allowing himself to relax slightly now that the danger was gone. It was only then that he noticed his pants were cold and wet, having soiled himself in his fright.

"There, there," Emma cooed, scooping him up into her arms. Not one to usually show affection, Romano hugged the older woman around the neck, letting her cradle him and carry him through the house. She patted his back to calm his crying as she took them back up to Romano's bedroom.

She placed him gently onto the bed. "I'll go get some ice from the kitchen, ja?"

Romano grabbed a fistful of her dress quickly. "No! Please!" he begged, tears forming again. "Don't leave me alone! Please..."

"Of course," she amended immediately. She noticed his breeches then. "Oh no, Romano, take those off quickly. We can't have you sleeping in those."

After much coaxing, Romano allowed Emma to retrieve a fresh, old pair of Lux's breeches from her room, on the condition that she talk to him through open doors. Romano was scared that Antonio would come back. Even if it appeared that the man had come to his senses, Romano wasn't taking any chances. Emma returned quickly and closed the door.

"I brought you some breeches and a thicker nightshirt, too," she said, handing him the clothes. "It's getting colder out, and I don't want you getting sick." She stroked his hair. "Now, care to tell me what happened?"

Thoroughly embarrassed, Romano told Emma everything. He even admitted that he had gotten up in the first place to use the lavatory. Squirrel story be damned, Romano was too scared to care about getting in trouble for that right now.

Emma petted him and allowed him to curl against her. "Romano, I wish you had been honest with me about the bathroom," she said. He knew she was disappointed, but she didn't seem to want to scold him. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, weet je," she told him. "The señor and I would not think any less of you."

Romano flinched at the mention of his boss. Emma sighed. "I truly do not think he meant to hurt you, Romano. Please believe me. He likely heard you open the front door and thought an intruder entered the castle. He was probably just... sleep-deprived, or..." She trailed off, trying to think of a better excuse. Romano rolled his eyes but said nothing. He was tired and his throat hurt. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and find that this had all been a nightmare.

"Rest now, Romano," Emma told him softly, placing him under the sheets.

He grabbed her hand. "Please stay with me?"

"I need to see to the señor, but I will stay until you fall asleep," she promised, sitting at the edge of his bed.

Although he was very scared, Romano did eventually drift off into an uneasy sleep. His exhaustion was the deciding factor in the end, winning out over the fear that plagued his mind. In his sleep, Romano missed the worried glances Emma shot at his neck. He missed how she wiped away the tears that escaped from beneath his eyelids. He didn't see the concerned looks she gave the ceiling, either. He couldn't hear the sounds of destruction coming from the third floor above them, of things breaking and of chairs being smashed against the wall. He didn't feel Emma leave the bed, and he didn't hear her go upstairs. He couldn't hear the yelling that followed, accompanied by more things being thrown against the walls. He heard none of these things, which continued for hours, until the sun began to rise.

* * *

.

* * *

 _Vueltas y vueltas, mano a mano, formar un círculo y bailan en rondo. Estampar sus pies y bailar un carolare - Round and round, hand-in-hand, form a circle and dance in rondo. Stamp your feet and dance a carolare~ ;D  
_

 _O mijn god - Oh my god_

 _Weet je - you know_

* * *

 _Well... that certainly escalated quickly, didn't it? I went into this chapter not knowing how I would end it, though I'll admit I had this scene planned early in the story since the beginning (I just didn't know which chapter it would appear in)._

 _No, this is not an abuse story. So hopefully none of you will worry about that, because that is not the way this story is going._

 _Romano keeps getting the short end of the stick, doesn't he? Maybe his luck will start to improve? I have a hunch it will..._

 _Perhaps the next chapter will treat our little tomato brat better? That's for me to know, and you to find out! Til next time~_


	6. Chapter 6

_Notes : Longest chapter yet, you guys! Originally, I had hoped for chapters around 3000 words, but chapters 2-5 ended up being around 5000 words each. This chapter is over 7000 words long D: Also, many thanks to the guest who corrected my Dutch in the last chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

 **.**

* * *

The Carriedo Castle had finally quieted down after sunrise. Emma had checked on Romano again, but the boy was still fast asleep. His eyebrows were scrunched tightly, and she wondered if he was having a bad dream. As much as she wanted to stay and run her fingers through his hair to soothe away his troubles, Emma had more pressing matters to confront.

She balanced a breakfast tray on one hand as she dug into her pockets with the other, pulling out an old brass key. She unlocked the door at the top of the third floor staircase and slipped through, closing and re-locking it behind her. When it had just been her boss and herself, they had left the door open. However, when they had started looking for more help, they agreed it would be best to keep it locked. Emma didn't think Romano would ever wander up to the third floor (especially not after last night), but some of the other boys had been curious. Not to mention the Cuban boy Carlos, who had actually managed to sneak up here.

Emma patiently walked down the hallway, listening for any unusual noises. Hearing nothing, she went to Antonio's bedroom and peered around the doorway. The large bed was empty, which meant her boss was probably still in one of his work rooms. She had hoped he would have calmed down enough to go to bed (apparently not), so it was with careful trepidation that she approached the place she'd seen him last: the library.

The library here was much larger than the one downstairs, almost twice as large, with some books and scrolls dating all the way back to Ancient Egypt. Emma found her boss poring over an old, thick book and a detailed map of Spain. Glancing around, she saw that he had cleaned up most of the mess he'd made earlier.

"I'm glad to see you've calmed down," she told him, setting the tray at the edge of the table.

Antonio didn't look up, but he did let out a hollow laugh. "Well, that does tend to happen," he retorted smartly, jerking his head in the direction of a window, blocked off by a tall bookcase. All of the windows in the library were blocked by either books or tapestries.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," she said, exasperated. "But honestly, Antonio, you've got to control yourself! You could have _killed_ Romano!"

He finally tore himself away from the book to meet her eyes. "I thought we already got all of the yelling out a while ago."

She matched his stare, refusing to apologize. "He could have died, Antonio. This is _serious_. Any longer and I would have walked in on you holding his lifeless body! I don't know what caused me to get up at such an hour, but thank God I did. I could just feel something was wrong, and when I went to check on Romano..."

Antonio didn't respond, and she was fully prepared to lecture him again. However, Emma knew that it wouldn't solve anything, so she chose to move past the scolding. Besides, truly she knew that Antonio felt horrible about what had transpired, if his fits earlier had been any indication.

Her boss finally noticed the tray at the end of the table, laden with bread, cheese, and a glass of tomato juice. He ignored the food and reached for the juice, downing it in one large gulp.

Emma eyed the glass in his hand wearily. "Do you know how long it took me to make that? You're going to work me to the bone," she joked, even though they both knew the seriousness of that statement. She avoided his concerned gaze, taking the glass and preparing to head back down to the kitchen.

"Emma, wait," Antonio ordered softly. He looked at her beseechingly. "What am I going to do about Romano?"

She sighed and set the glass back on the tray. "I don't know, Antonio. I already told you earlier, and many other times, that I think you should tell him the truth. If you want him to trust you, telling more lies is not the answer."

"But I caaaaaan't," he wailed, flopping down on a longue chair. Emma could see he had gone from angry to depressed, and it was very hard to reason with a depressed Antonio. "He's too young," her boss continued. "And after last night, I don't think telling him the truth will win me any merit."

"After last night, he may never come near you again," she pointed out, causing him to sob even more. Emma rubbed her forehead; clearly her boss was beyond using his brain this morning. It seemed she would have to do all of the thinking. "So what _will_ you do? Will you beg for his forgiveness? You know that won't come easily, if ever. Will you send him back to Italy? Release him? Dispose of him?"

Antonio winced at that last suggestion. "I could never dispose of Romano. He's... just, _no_."

"Why not?" Emma argued, raising a brow. "You disposed of Carlos without much second thought. We would have to be more careful this time, with all of the rumors going around, but we could do it if you really wanted." Antonio was staring at her in disbelief. "I care for Romano very much, but my loyalty lies with you, Antonio. Don't look so surprised."

"I... thank you, Emma," he said after a moment. "However, I don't think I could ever do that to Roma. Romulus saved my life once, many years ago. I could never cast away his grandson so easily."

Emma nodded in understanding, and she was very relieved to hear that. "Well, we could always write to the Austrians and request a swap? I believe you had wanted the other brother from the start, ja?"

Antonio looked troubled. "That's probably not the best idea. I can't imagine Romano fairing any better around Gilbert than around me," he explained. "Also, I doubt Gilbert or his witch would be willing to give up the boy in exchange for Romano, who has none of his brother's talents. No," he said decisively, folding his hands together, "they got to Romulus's successor first; I will have to let them keep the younger boy."

"I still don't see why we can't tell Romano about that, about you knowing his grandfather," she said. "You could fabricate the story a bit, obviously you'd have to leave out certain details, but... You might win some points by telling him about his grandfather."

"I don't think so," Antonio debated, and Emma was glad to see the wheels turning round his head. A thinking boss would hopefully lead to a happier boss. "Romano doesn't seem to like his family or want to talk about them, from what I have managed to get out of him during our chats. I just have a bad feeling about it..."

She shrugged. "It's your decision, but I still say all of this will come back to haunt you one day, Antonio."

He smiled sadly. "I'm already haunted, Emma. There's not much else the world can do to me. As for Romano..." He stood and began pacing back and forth between the bookshelves. "I have no wish to get rid of him. I think letting him go is a bad idea; he already knows or suspects too much. Besides, if we keep him here, at least he is under my protection. I don't think Arthur knows about him... yet; however, that bastard is resourceful and will no doubt find out eventually. At least under this roof, we can slow the process."

"Where is he at moment...Arthur Kirkland?" she inquired, peering at the book and map on the desk. "Have you located him yet?"

Her boss stopped his pacing and joined her, looking over her shoulder. "Not yet. I bet he's cloaking himself with magic, though. Wherever he is, I hope he stays far away from the village. For the time being, do not take Romano shopping with you."

"Ja, so what do you plan to do?" Emma asked again. "The boy will not come to you willingly, Antonio. You will have to take great lengths if you want to win his trust back."

Antonio grinned slightly for the first time that morning. "Ah, that's where you're wrong, my dear Emma." He tapped his finger on her nose playfully. "I don't think Roma ever trusted me to begin with. So maybe it won't be as challenging as we perceived."

Emma doubted that Romano would want to be anywhere near the Spaniard, but Antonio was starting to regain his good spirits, so, not wanting to crush them, she said nothing. However, there were other things that needed addressing.

"What if you run into Romano again like that? I've been trying to keep him out of your way, and I thought I was doing a good job," she mumbled, ashamed. "But it seems that he has been getting up every few days and wandering the halls at night. Ever since he arrived here, I suspect."

Her boss crossed his arms and leaned against the desk, watching her thoughtfully. Emma nodded at the plate of food, but Antonio refused; this led to a minute's staring match between the two, and in the end Antonio blinked and looked away. Sulking, he tore off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth.

"Emmaaaa," he whined, "you know I'm not hungry when I'm stressed. Fix problems now, eat later. Now, why does Roma get up at night? I have never seen him wandering the halls until last night."

She rolled her eyes. "If you insist, señor," she mocked, ignoring Antonio when he stuck his tongue out at her.

Then she proceeded to tell him about Romano's lavatory needs and his troubles of finding his way around the various hallways in the dark. As she explained, the corners of Antonio's mouth twitched, ever so slowly turning upwards into a wry grin, and Emma knew that her boss had thought of an idea. An assuredly mad-crazy, probably doomed but possibly successful, idea.

* * *

Romano shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. Why was he so cold? He looked down to see that he was still wearing his bed clothes, his feet numbing inside his thin slippers. It was no wonder that he was freezing, wearing such things out in the snow!

Wait, snow? Romano dusted the snowflakes off his clothes. It was snowing freely, the white powder covering every mountain top in sight. _Mountains...?_

Damn, just where was he? He supposed that he could still be in Spain, as the country did seem to have a lot of mountains, but Romano sensed something was different. These were not Spanish mountains.

He looked around, seeing nothing but snow-capped hills and trees. White, every which way he stared. Oh no, was this _Heaven_?! He had never been very religious, but Romano had gone to a few masses, and he knew that white was the associated color with Heaven and angels, and oh lord, had Antonio actually strangled him to death last night?

Romano gingerly touched his neck where the large hand had squeezed him. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt; the skin was smooth and normal, not sore at all. Had the attack all been nothing but a dream? No... it had been too real; his _fear_ had been all too real. Perhaps Antonio had scared him to death, if he hadn't died from lack of breathing first. Maybe in Heaven, scars were erased.

But glancing around at the mountains and the snow, and shivering in the sheer _cold_ , Romano's gut told him that this was definitely _not_ a Heaven nor anywhere near it.

The gong of a church bell sounded, striking more tremors throughout his body. Romano faced the noise coming from behind him. Had that church been there before? He was pretty sure that it had only been trees and snow until now...

Unsure of what else to do, Romano took laggard steps through the thick snow towards the building. The church was not more than a tiny shack with a thin steeple, and it looked completely abandoned. Parts of the roof were missing, and the front doors were boarded over.

Nearing the decrepit structure, something off to the left grabbed his attention. A cemetery. Romano couldn't help but feel pulled to the graveyard instead, so he turned from the church and approached the iron fence. The gate swung open by itself. He was beginning to think this place was haunted. Maybe he should go back...

Romano glanced about the graveyard. The headstones looked ancient and weathered. He looked down at the nearest one and found the letters unreadable. Romano frowned, staring harder. No, actually... the letters were _there_ , but he couldn't read them. He checked another grave, and then another. Similar writing.

Wherever he was, the names on these graves were neither Spanish nor Italian, and he was certainly they weren't English either. Well, some letters looked familiar, but not others. And some looked backwards...

The tombstone he was standing next to suddenly began to shake and glow, giving off an eerie purple light. Romano shrieked and backed away, stumbling and knocking into several other grave markers in the process. A few other stones nearby started moving as well, and all of them were giving off the same sinister light.

Romano ran for the exit, spotting the iron gate ahead. Before he could exit the graveyard, however, the gate shut, and he heard the click of a lock. _No!_ He rattled the gate and shook the handle multiple times, but it remained locked.

He dared to look over his shoulder, where all of the graves were now rumbling and glowing. "Damn it!" he swore. "Let me out!" If he was taller, Romano would have been able to climb over the fence. But it was built so high that he currently couldn't reach the top.

A loud noise erupted behind him, and Romano turned to find that the graves were bursting open. Soil was flying everywhere as the strange purple aura shot up from beneath the earth. Romano screamed and banged on the gate again.

"Let me out, please! Someone!" he cried, tears stinging his cold cheeks. "Damn it... Antonio, where are you? Come save me, you bastard!"

The grave right behind him exploded, showering Romano with dirt. He screamed. Something was coming out of the ground...

A hand clamped onto his shoulder, shaking him violently. Romano screamed again, trying to fight it off.

"Romano! Romano, it's me! It's Emma!" the familiar voice reassured, shaking his shoulder worriedly.

He opened his eyes and stopped thrashing about. Emma was watching him worriedly, but she relaxed when he woke. Romano immediately wrapped his arms around her, crying. She petted his hair and rubbed his back.

"Oh, lieveke, what's got you so frightened?" she cooed. "You were screaming and crying in your sleep! Did you have a nightmare?"

He nodded, feeling safe in Miss Emma's arms and out of that terrifying graveyard. It had been a dream, all just a dream. As he nodded, the muscles in his neck stretched in pain, causing him to wince.

Hearing this, Emma pulled back and studied him. "That's going to be a nasty bruise," she commented quietly. Seeing his panicked face, she quickly changed the subject back. "What was this nightmare about?" she asked, wiping the tears off his cheeks.

"I was trapped in this creepy graveyard," he sniffled, trying to calm down, "and the graves were opening..."

"That would be scary," she agreed. "Goodness, Romano, you're freezing! How about you get back under the covers and I bring you some warm breakfast in bed, ja? I'll bring some ice for your neck, too. Perhaps we can lessen the swelling." She helped him get snuggled under the blankets before leaving, pausing in the doorway to glance at something in the hallway. She gave whatever it was a _look_ , before continuing to the stairwell.

Romano shivered and rubbed his arms for warmth. Why was he so cold? He'd been cold in his dream too, hadn't he?. He tried to remember more about it, but all he could recall was the graves opening. He was sure there had been more before that... but Romano found he couldn't remember anything else.

Someone in the hallway cleared his throat, and Romano instantly knew why Emma had stopped to give _him_ a look. The _him_ waiting just outside the room had to be the señor, Antonio.

The man poked his head around the doorway, looking into the bedroom. Romano instinctively threw the blanket over his head, curling up into a ball. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the murderous look on his boss's face and he could practically feel the grip of death on his throat again.

"Romano..." the Spaniard said, and the boy heard him walk into the room. "Roma, I just want to say how sorry I am."

He clutched the blanket tighter, not ready to confront Antonio. "Vattene, bastardo." His words were muffled by the blankets.

"What was that?" Antonio asked, having not understood the first part. Though his hurt tone indicated he had understood it to be an insult.

"I said, Get out!" Romano yelled, clearer this time. "I don't want to talk to you!"

"But Roma..."

"Just go away, bastard!" he ordered, trying not to cry.

For a minute, it seemed like Antonio was going to stay and say something else, but after a while, he heard the man's retreating footsteps. He heard Antonio walk down the hall and then climb the stairs to the third floor. Even once he was sure the boss wasn't coming back, he didn't move from his spot on the bed.

Right when Romano had started to relax around the man... when he had considered maybe even answering some of the bastard's endless questions... Just when Romano had started to feel _wanted_ here, this happened. He should have known better. He shouldn't have let himself think that this would be any different. _You're nothing special, Lovino,_ his parents had said. _You're a despicable child who can't even manage some chores. You're a disgrace to the family._

Romano tried to shut out their voices. _Why can't you be more like your brother? He never gave us these problems._ Feliciano had only been three years old when he was taken to Venice, but his parents always ignored such details. _Your grandfather saw potential in Feliciano. You're the older child, Lovino, he should have taken you, but you don't have any potential. You'll never amount to anything._

 _You can't even keep the house clean, boy. Do you want another bruise to match? No? Then clean this place up properly!_

 _This food is barely edible, Lovino. Why should I love you when you can't even take care of your own mother? Do you not love me, Lovino? This sort of meal certainly doesn't say so._

 _Have you chopped the firewood yet? Boy, stop crying about your damn arm. If you wouldn't cost us by breaking so many eggs, I wouldn't have to break your arm._

 _You're so pathetic, Lovino. Why would you ever think that anyone could possibly love you?_

Romano had begun to think that maybe things could be different here. But he had been wrong.

Hearing Emma's light footsteps, he quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and pulled the blanket off his head. The woman entered his room, this time closing the door after. As Romano ate a breakfast of warm bread and chicken broth, Emma held some ice wrapped in a cloth to his neck. The broth warmed his insides, and the cold rag felt good on his sore neck.

"I hope the señor didn't disturb you," she said after he had finished eating. She helped him lie back on the pillow and balance the rag on his neck. "I told him you wouldn't want to see him, but Señor Carriedo can be very stubborn sometimes."

Once she had made sure he was comfortable, Emma stood and collected the dishes, preparing to leave. But Romano needed to ask her something.

"Miss Emma?" he said softly.

Sensing an important question, she put down the dishes and sat at the edge of the bed again. "What is it, lieveke?"

He was very afraid to hear the answer, but Romano wasn't sure he could handle the anxiety if he didn't know now. "What's going to happen to me? Are you... is the señor sending me back to the orphanage?"

Confused, she shook her head. "What? Of course not, Romano. Where did you get an idea like that?" she asked, patting his head. Then she hesitated. "Why... Do you _want_ to go back?"

"No!" Romano sat up so fast that he hurt his neck, and he hissed in pain. "I just thought... I thought you wouldn't want me anymore." He looked down in shame.

"Of course we want you to stay," Emma reassured him.

Romano played with his hands. "But... I'm not any good at cleaning... I can't find my way around the castle... and after last night... I just thought Ant– the señor would prefer someone else. Someone better..."

"Romano, I think you are doing just fine," Emma told him, pinching his cheek affectionately. "As for if the señor wants you here... I'm afraid you'll have to ask him that yourself." At his distressed look, she continued. "He really is sorry, Romano. I won't tell you to forgive him, because only you can decide that, but I will say that you should at least talk to him. Once you're feeling up to it, of course. Today, you just rest. I'll take care of the chores, ja?"

Emma kissed his forehead. Before she left the room, Romano called out again. "Miss Emma?" She turned around at the door and caught his eye. "Thank you..." he said. "Thank you for not sending me away." She smiled and nodded, finally leaving and closing the door again.

If Romano was resigned to a life of hardship, at least he had Emma. He didn't know if she liked him or if she just acted like it because it was her job, but at least she didn't yell or hit him. She was fairly strict with chores and lessons, but he could almost sense an underlying affection. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking, he reasoned as his parents' taunts gnawed at his hope.

He stretched and got out of bed, placing the melted ice rag on the bedside table. He walked over and looked out the window. The sun was low in the sky somewhere, and he must have slept most of the day. Emma had told him to rest, so he climbed back into the bed, wondering what would happen tomorrow.

Romano was frightened at the thought of facing the señor again, but he knew that Emma was right. The man was his boss; if Antonio wanted to speak to him, Romano really should listen. After what he had gone through on the farm, this really wasn't that different.

Except his parents had never acted as if they liked him. They had never smiled at him the way Antonio did, or cooked for him or taken an interest in him or shown him any affection. They had always mistreated him, practically from the beginning (and even before that, he'd never exactly been cared for). But at least they had never pretended to like him and then turned around and hit him. Antonio confused Romano with his back-and-forth personality. Perhaps this is what Emma had meant by the man being 'difficult to get along with.'

* * *

Sleeping with a fresh cloth on his neck had helped the swelling, but there was still a dark bruise on Romano's neck the next morning. Emma told him that it might even take weeks to heal. He would just have to be careful about how tight his shirt collar was for a while.

Although he had resolved to let Antonio speak to him today, Romano managed to avoid the man for most of the morning. It wasn't exactly intentional; he had rooms to clean and such, but he wasn't about to make it easy and just waltz into the boss's study. So it wasn't until he went outside to work in the garden, that Romano began to panic.

Sure enough, he had barely started gardening when Señor Carriedo cornered him that morning. He trembled as the man approached him, so he quickly tried to act indifferent, pretending as if the man wasn't even there. Maybe he'd take the hint and go away...

"As always, the garden looks fabulous, Roma. You've been doing such a great job."

Romano didn't want to look up, refusing to believe the praise Antonio was saying. "Just say whatever it is you want to say, bastard. Don't make up things up for an attempt at flattery," he spat, keeping his focus on the weeds.

The Spaniard paused. "I'm not making things up. I honestly think you're doing a wonderful job, Roma," he continued in a gentle tone. Then, still kind but also a bit commanding, he said, "But perhaps you could desist in your weeding for a time, and come take a walk with me?"

It was possible that the man might take him all the way to the woods and murder him...

"Don't worry," Antonio comforted, "we won't go farther than my tomato fields, and Emma is over in the chicken coops right now. She'll only be a call away."

Romano looked over to see Emma waving at him from the coops. He slowly waved back, debating on what to do. Not like he really had a choice, did he? He wiped his sweaty hands on his apron and stood, hesitantly turning around to finally meet the man face to face. What he saw almost made him gasp.

Antonio was a lot closer than Romano had thought, with barely enough space between the two of them. The Spaniard was down on one knee, dirtying his rich breeches. In the small space between them, Antonio was holding out a large arrangement of wildflowers, probably as some sort of peace offering. The man looked nervous, as if Romano would reject him again.

"Please, Roma," he whispered. Dumbfounded, Romano couldn't find it in him to push the flowers away when the bouquet was pressed into his hands.

No one had ever given him anything before. His brother had painted him a picture once for Christmas, and Emma had given him clothes, but no one had ever given Romano something like this. He stared at all of the different blossoms. Had Antonio picked these himself?

But all Romano could say was... "Why are you giving me flowers, bastard? Do I look like a girl?"

Remembering that he was wearing an apron over his clothes and a scarf on his head, Romano was thankful when Antonio chose not to answer, although he thought he saw the man smile a bit as he eyed the headscarf. Bastard.

They stayed like that for a while, Antonio on his knee and Romano trying to avoid the burning gaze of those green eyes.

"Are we taking a walk or not, you bastard?" he asked, highly embarrassed when a giant smile spread across the man's face. Antonio stood, telling Romano to grab one of the tomatoes from the garden and follow him. The bouquet was too big for Romano to hold with only one hand, but Emma arrived and relieved him of it, promising to put them in some water. He only grunted, flustered by all of the attention, and he almost forgot to pluck one of the tomatoes as he hurried after his boss.

They walked in silence as they crossed the grounds. Romano mostly kept his head down, keeping only Antonio's boots in his line of sight. His eyes were so trained on the ground that he didn't really register when Antonio came to stop, and he walked straight into him. He scooted back, not wanting to be that close, and it was only then that Romano took a good look around to see where they were.

They were standing just outside the tomato fields. Antonio was unlatching the wooden gate connected to the short fence that surrounded the fields. The Spaniard pulled a set of gloves out of his pocket and then handed a second, smaller pair to Romano. The boy gaped at him.

"I... I thought I wasn't allowed in here," he said, remembering how the señor had told him he would be punished for breaking the few rules of the house.

Antonio nodded in agreement. "You aren't... unless you're with me and I allow it."

Romano was still extremely doubtful. "I won't be punished?" he clarified, skeptically taking the gloves and examining them. They were made of quality leather and definitely very expensive.

"Absolutely not," Antonio guaranteed. "But only when you're with me, do you understand? You still aren't allowed in here by yourself."

He nodded, donning the gloves and following his boss into the first field. He looked bemusedly at an old scarecrow that was guarding the plants; Romano had made something similar to watch over the vegetable garden by the castle. Antonio grabbed a large basket that was hanging by the gate and beckoned the Italian to follow.

"These fields house my special tomatoes, Roma," he explained, kneeling down by a plant. Romano followed suit, crouching next to his boss. "I told you that you are to never eat one of these, and that rule still applies. I'm sorry to say it, but I will be very cross with you if you eat one of my tomatoes," Antonio said, trying to make the threat as nice-sounding as possible (Romano was still terrified, however).

Antonio had Romano hold up the tomato he had brought from the other garden. "You see how this one is nice and plump, a very good red color?" he asked, pointing to the fruit in Romano's hand. The man held up the closest tomato, still connected to its roots. "These tomatoes are smaller in size, about half as big, see? Also, notice the difference in color." The tomato in Antonio's hand was a dark red, nothing like the regular tomatoes. "Meaning that you have no excuse for confusing them. They also taste... very, _very_ different." Antonio let Romano examine the fruit closely. "In fact, I would go so far as to say that they don't even taste like tomatoes."

Romano knitted his brows as he turned over the little tomato in his hand; he didn't like it. It was too small, too dark, and... too wrong. "What do they taste like?" he asked, handing it back to his boss. "Like medicine, right?"

Antonio grimaced. "You could say that. However curious you are about tasting them, _don't_ ," he instructed. "Aside from being in a load of trouble, Roma, I'm sure you will find them to be quite disgusting." The man gingerly let the tomato slip from his fingers, and Romano noticed the vines for the first time.

"Why do these tomato plants have large thorns?" he asked, alarmed.

"Don't ever touch those with your bare hands, Roma; they will cut right through your skin," Antonio explained. He flexed his leather-covered fingers. "That's why we're wearing gloves. As for _why_ the thorns exist... they protect the tomatoes from predators."

"Like rabbits?" the boy asked, cautiously eying the plants.

"Sure," the Spaniard replied. "The thorns will hurt whoever tries to take a tomato... animal or otherwise." From the way he said it, Romano suspected Antonio had dealt with tomato thieves in the past.

Antonio showed Romano the best way to pick the small tomatoes and how to avoid getting cut on the arm by the thorns. They spent the better part of the next hour picking ripe tomatoes. There weren't very many, as Antonio told him that the plants took a long time to grow.

"That's why I have several fields," he explained, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I have to meet a daily intake, but they take so long to grow, that just having a normal-sized garden... Well, it wouldn't be good for my health. So I have a few fields, each with different rows being planted at different times. But some grow slower than others, so you still never know when they'll be ripe. That's why we have to check all of them."

"Have you ever had too many ripe at the same time?" Romano asked, imagining the loss if there were so many that some went bad before his boss could eat them.

"Nope! But if I did, it wouldn't matter," Antonio replied, grinning at him. "These tomatoes won't go bad once they ripen."

Romano dropped a tomato in shock. "They don't get rotten? But how?"

Antonio shrugged innocently.

"So, couldn't we plant a whole bunch at once, then pick them all when they're ripe and just keep a hoard?" the boy inquired, placing the dropped tomato into the basket.

Antonio laughed. "Oh, I've tried that already, Roma, believe me. I would have to have a million tomato fields to ever have that many. I do have a small group stored away, but if I stopped picking new ones for even a week, I would run out."

"Where do you get the seeds?"

Antonio went on to explain that the seeds were, in fact, regular tomato seeds. However, they were planted with a special fertilizer that Antonio made himself from an array of ingredients. The fertilizer was mostly composed of different herbs, one of which the Spaniard had to travel all the way to Japan once a year to buy. That explained one of his boss's long trips, at least.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Romano asked at last, as they started on the final row of the field. "You wouldn't let me in here before, so... why now?"

Antonio surprised Romano with the intensity of his gaze. "Because I want you to trust me," Antonio answered sincerely. "Roma... I may never be able to apologize enough for what happened last night. I don't know exactly what I was thinking... no, I _wasn't_ thinking. I should have recognized you, even in the dark. I was quick to assume you were an intruder, and I acted without thinking."

Romano forced himself not to look away. "Do you get a lot of intruders?"

"It's happened before," Antonio admitted, but he also added, "However, I still should not have acted the way I did. I could have seriously injured you or..." His gaze fell down to Romano's neck. "I'm sorry, Roma. So very sorry."

He sounded honest. Romano wanted to believe that Antonio was being honest with him. But years of abuse told him otherwise. If his own parents didn't even like him, why should anyone else? He finally broke the gaze, feeling flushed at how intently Antonio was watching him. Romano turned away and went back to checking the plants, cheeks pink. He knew Antonio was waiting for some sort of an answer. An acceptance of the apology or even a rejection, but Romano didn't know what to do about that. The feeling of being choked was still fresh in his mind, and he didn't fully trust Antonio. But he didn't hate the man, either.

"I... I accept your apology," he stated after another few minutes of deliberation. "That seems sincere enough. But... how do I know it won't happen again? What about the next time I have to get up and..." He stopped, realizing that Antonio might not know why he'd been awake in the first place, although he guessed that Emma may have told him.

"I don't think that will be a problem anymore," Antonio sang with a wink. "Come on, let's go back inside. I have another thing to show you."

"But what about the other fields? Don't we need to check those?" Romano wondered.

His boss picked up the basket, which was barely even half-full. "I wish we could, but I'm exhausted. That's another reason I have to grow so many tomatoes... I can never stay awake long enough to check them all. While the fruits stay ripe if you pick them, they will wither and die if they _aren't_ picked." Romano looked at him incredulously. "Haha, I know, right? It sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth."

Antonio carried the basket back to the house, Romano trailing behind. Emma was no longer in the chicken coops, but it was almost lunchtime, so she had probably moved inside. As suspected, she was in the kitchen, cooking up what he guessed was likely chicken. Antonio set the basket down on a counter and peeled off his gloves. Romano did the same and tried to give them back to his boss, but the man held up a hand.

"No, no, Roma, you keep those. I had them made specially for you," Antonio told him.

Specially made? But that would have taken a while, more than a day, certainly... meaning that Antonio had ordered them a while ago. He had planned on letting Romano into his garden all along, possibly. Which meant that Antonio hadn't _only_ showed him the tomato fields as a bribe to get Romano's trust; he had thought of it before that. Perhaps the gloves were meant for something else, but Romano had a strong feeling that his boss had considered showing him the garden at some point from the start. It also meant... that perhaps Antonio expected Romano to work in the garden more than once.

"Now, Roma, if you'll follow me," his boss ordered, "I have another surprise for you!"

Romano glanced over at Emma, who nodded approvingly. Then he scurried after Antonio once more, following the man up the stairs. They went up to the second floor and into to Romano's bedroom.

"I want you to collect all of your things, Roma," the Spaniard ordered. "I'll help you carry them. All of your clothes and things, gather them up."

Romano panicked and looked to his boss worriedly. "You're sending me away?!"

"No, of course not, Roma!" Antonio said hurriedly, crouching down to his level. "Why would you think that?"

The boy pouted but held back his tears. "Because I'm not good at anything," he mumbled. He bowed his head, not wanting to see the look in Antonio's eyes when he realized that Romano was right. Surely after hearing it, Antonio would agree.

Antonio's hand was gentle on his shoulder, but Romano still jumped. "I don't know who told you that, but they were wrong," Antonio said seriously. "You're a fine little henchman, Roma. Boss wouldn't prefer anyone else."

Clearly an exaggeration, Romano thought, but he supposed the gesture behind it was thoughtful. He nodded, causing Antonio to smile and let go of his shoulder. Romano went around picking up his clothes and shoes. He didn't have much else. Once he was done, the room looked almost exactly as it had when he first arrived.

Antonio led him back into the hallway. "So, Romano, I was thinking about your bathroom needs, and I think I have a solution to your problem." The boy blushed, not liking the discussion topic. He followed the man down the hall to the staircases.

To his amazement, Antonio led them not back downstairs, but _upstairs_. _To the forbidden third floor_.

"Now, Roma, most of the rule still applies," Antonio explained, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs to unlock a door. "You are not to go wandering down the hall or in any of the rooms here. You will not be cleaning up here, Emma will do that. You are not to investigate any noises you hear. If you think something is wrong, you will get Emma to check it out, do you understand?"

Romano nodded vigorously. His boss smiled in return.

"Good. Now that we have an understanding..." The man walked over to the first door on the left and opened it. "Roma, welcome to your new bedroom."

Still in shock over being allowed onto the third floor (as well as into the tomato fields, all in the same day no less), Romano could only shuffle over to the doorway. Antonio nudged him into the room with his foot, gleefully watching the boy's various expressions.

Romano looked around in wonder. The room had to be twice as large as his old one. The bed was gigantic, able to fit at least three or four people comfortably. There were pale green sheets and a thick, dark green quilt covering the fattest mattress that he had ever seen. It looked so warm! There were even four fluffy white pillows. The bed frame itself was likely mahogany, as was the rest of the furniture. Two bedside tables, an armoire, a desk... there was also a chest at the foot of the bed.

"Well?" Antonio inquired, leaning on the door-frame. "Do you like it?"

"It's wonderful," Romano answered, tracing a finger around one of the bedposts. He looked to his boss questioningly. "But... why? You know you can't buy my trust with new stuff, right? I may be a child, but I'm not stupid."

Antonio grinned sheepishly as he lay the clothes on the new bed. "I didn't move you up here for new furniture, Roma. Although I'm glad you like it." He strode over to a door next to the armoire. "I only allowed you up here for _this_." He gracefully swung the door open with a flourish and beckoned the boy to look inside. Romano approached cautiously, giving his boss a skeptical look before peering into the adjoining room.

It was a full bathroom, smaller than the one he had shared with Emma, but that hardly mattered. A toilet sat against one wall, and a bathtub rested against another. There was even a sink with a small mirror mounted above it. _He had his very own bathroom_.

"We'll have to get a tiny stool so you can reach the faucet more easily, but this way you won't have to wander the halls at night," the Spaniard said, grinning at the way Romano's jaw had dropped. "Although, I wish you would have been honest with us, Roma. You don't need to worry about being embarrassed in front of Emma or me."

Antonio helped him put his clothes away and explained that there was a small closet right across the hall where bath towels were stored. Romano had access to these two rooms, but he wasn't allowed to go any further down the hall, and he definitely wasn't to go exploring in any of the rooms.

"Thank you," Romano said quietly when Antonio announced he was going off to bed.

His boss looked at him in surprise. "You're very welcome, Roma."

"I... I don't know if I can forget what happened, but I'll try to give you a second chance," he told the man, whose face immediately broke out into a wide smile. "But you have to earn it, bastard!"

Antonio looked positively _radiant_. "Oh, I will, Roma, thank you! I won't disappoint you," he promised, pulling the boy into a tight hug.

Feeling Romano tense in his arms, Antonio apologized and let go quickly. Still smiling like a fool, he bid Romano goodnight and headed down the hallway for his own bedroom.

Romano had meant what he'd said about needing time for Antonio to earn his trust back, and he was going to make that tomato bastard work for it. But it was sort of nice knowing that Antonio trusted _him_. Antonio trusted Romano with handling the special tomatoes, and his boss even trusted him enough not to wander around the third floor. Of course, Antonio would never have to worry about that; Romano was terrified of being punished. As Romano finished straightening the room before heading back downstairs to finish his chores, he caught sight of something on one of the bedside tables. It was the bouquet of flowers Antonio had given him, arranged in a large vase. Admiring them, Romano felt a warmth spread through his body.

Maybe things here could turn out differently, after all.

* * *

.

* * *

 _Lieveke - little sweet one_

 _Vattene, bastardo - Get out, bastard!_

* * *

 _Oh, Antonio, you should know that healthy relationships are never built on lies D:_

 _But finally, things are looking up for Romano! The fluff in this chapter made me very happy, and I hope you all enjoyed it, too~_

 _Chapters are moving along with the action nicely now. More Romano/Antonio bonding in the coming chapters, along with more of the serious plot too. The romance is still a ways off, so I hope the Spain-Chibiromano cuteness bides you over in the meantime._

 _And after that scene between Antonio and Emma, does it change any of your thoughts or speculations? How many of you are waiting for Arthur to show up? What other characters would you be interested in seeing? I already have them pretty much planned, but I always love to hear what my readers think!_

 _Until next time, ciao~!_


	7. Chapter 7

Pairing: Eventual Spain/Romano

Rated: T

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

* * *

 **.**

* * *

Romano had said that Antonio would have to work hard to earn his trust, and he had meant every word.

Things started out simple enough. The day after Antonio's apologies and displays of trust, Romano had been in a fairly good mood. He had enjoyed a good night's sleep in his warm, soft new (not to mention _huge_ ) bed. Although he had woken up in the middle of the night like many a time before, he _hadn't_ been forced to wander the halls in vain last night. All he had to do... was walk across the room to his _very own bathroom!_ Romano had never imagined anything relating to chamber pots would make him so happy.

So he had woken up feeling refreshed and satisfied, even if his neck was still tender. He had inspected the bruise in his new mirror above the sink, but it wasn't any better than the day before. If anything, it actually appeared to be worse. Romano could only shrug at his reflection; his collar would hide some of it, but it didn't really matter. He'd been through worse.

He had gone downstairs to start on the breakfast, only to find Antonio was already cooking. "Buonasera, Roma!" he greeted, looking cheerier than ever.

Romano had given the man a bewildered look. He replied with a curt "It's morning, bastard", before remembering that his boss went to sleep around noon, and so to _him_ , it probably _was_ evening.

"Yes, I know," Antonio responded, still smiling and stirring a pan over the fire. Romano continued to stare at him oddly until he noticed. The Spaniard stopped stirring. "What, did I not say it right?"

The boy peered around Antonio to see what was cooking. Paella. Romano's stomach grumbled loudly, and he decided to take pity on his boss. Emma had claimed the man knew little Italian, and maybe if Romano was extra nice, Antonio would give him some paella...

"No, but you were close. You said Good evening. If you want to say Good morning, you say _Buongiorno_ ," he corrected.

"Ah! All right then, Buongiorno, Roma," the Spaniard said with a wink. "How would you like to join me for breakfast? I know you like paella."

Romano huffed and made a show of sitting down at the table, but his stomach was doing flips in excitement. "Why are you speaking Italian, bastard?" he asked as Antonio served the food. "Emma told me you don't know any." If he had to learn Spanish when all along, his boss spoke Italian...

"I don't, not really," the Spaniard explained, joining the boy at the table. "But I know you're Italian, so I thought maybe you could teach me some." Antonio smiled warmly.

Romano blushed and squirmed in his chair. "It... might be too difficult for a tomato bastard like you," he stammered, annoyed that his insult only made the man smile more. "I suppose I can teach you a few words, though." He pointed at the rice in the paella. " _Riso_."

Antonio scooped a mound of rice onto his spoon. "Riso," he repeated, glancing at the boy for confirmation. Romano nodded, and they both ate in silence for a few minutes.

" _Coniglio_ ," he continued, once his stomach was no longer roaring in hunger. He nudged a large piece of rabbit meat with his utensil. "Coniglio... rabbit."

They continued the lesson through the rest of breakfast. _Verdure_. Vegetables. _Cucchiaio_. Spoon. _Piastra_. Plate. _Pomodoro_. Tomato. "Or for yours, bastard, you'd say _pomodori speciali_ ," Romano instructed, watching his boss take a bite of one of the miniature fruits.

Antonio quickly wiped his mouth when a bit of thick tomato juice started to run down his lip. "Pomodori speciali... Special tomatoes?" He stared at the half-eaten fruit and chuckled darkly. "Special, you think? I suppose..."

And so a new routine began, of Antonio cooking breakfast in exchange for a few Italian lessons each morning. Romano always made a fuss about it, complaining about the food or telling Antonio he was probably too stupid to learn Italian, but he was pretty sure Antonio could see through it all. Well, at least the part about not liking the food. Romano's facial expressions would give him away every time when it came to eating; it was just too hard to hide.

Romano hadn't _meant_ to get carried away; really, he hadn't planned it. But Antonio just kept offering to do things for him...

It started with the cooking. Then, Antonio offered to help him clean one day. Romano had been struggling with the dusting in one of the many parlors, having already knocked over another bookshelf. Antonio had been walking by and heard the commotion, rushing in to see if Romano was hurt.

"Get off me, bastard," he groaned, pushing away the man's caring hands. "It's not a big deal; this sort of thing happens all of the time," he admitted reluctantly.

The Spaniard replaced the bookshelf and stared at the boy thoughtfully. "Well, maybe if you wouldn't make such wild gestures, you wouldn't knock things over," he mused. "I know growing boys have awkward limbs... but maybe try to control yourself better?"

"I can't," Romano replied sulkily.

Antonio smiled. "Of course you can! Maybe with a bit of practice–"

"It's not like that!" Romano shouted, cutting the man off. "You think I knock stuff over on purpose? I can't help it!" He turned to wipe the tears out of his eyes before they could fall. "I can't help it..."

After a long silence, his boss spoke again. "You really aren't good at cleaning, are you?" he asked, scratching his nose.

Romano puffed his cheeks and swore. "If you're just going to complain, then go away!"

His boss was not so easily deterred, however. Antonio helped him clean up the books, and after that, the man volunteered to stay and help Romano with the rest of the chores, until he got tired. Antonio was very interested in figuring out _why_ his henchman was so terrible at housework ("What do you mean 'why', bastard? I'm just not any good! Leave me alone!"), and so he announced that he would help out with Romano's morning chores every day, so that he could study and determine where all of the bad luck was coming from. Antonio didn't understand how someone who had been doing chores for most of their life could be so clumsy at them; after all, practice made perfect, right?

"Obviously practice hasn't helped me," Romano muttered as Antonio swept up the remains of a glass vase, after another one of the boy's accidents. He hung his head. "Let's face it; I'm no good."

"No, Roma," the Spaniard argued, kneeling and gripping the boy's shoulders. Such touches barely made him flinch these days, but arms length was about as close as Romano would let the man get to him.

Antonio's green eyes poured into him. "I'm not giving up on you."

He often said things like this, and Romano never knew how to handle the situation. Usually he would end up flustered, swatting Antonio off before the man could see the blush on his cheeks. _He just wants you to get better at cleaning so he doesn't have to help anymore, that's all_. Romano had told himself this many times; why else would Antonio bother? But as the weeks flew by, he began to wonder if that was really the truth.

Romano sometimes wondered if he was being selfish by taking up all of Antonio's free time. The man was doing practically everything for him these days... cooking, dusting, mopping. Antonio was eager to please the boy, intent on keeping his promise to win Romano's trust. Romano often felt Emma's disapproval of his boss's new _enslavement_ , as it were, but every time he caught her eye, she would only purse her lips and walk elsewhere. She might not like how he bossed Antonio around, but he knew she was thinking of the slowly fading bruise hidden beneath his shirt.

Of course, Romano could only boss around the Spaniard in the mornings. Around lunchtime, Antonio would always get tired and retire to his bedroom to sleep. Romano never saw the man after that, not until the next morning. At first, he thought his boss was trying to sleep all afternoon and night, or perhaps his health was so bad that he had to stay in bed often. But after spending many nights on the third floor down the hall from the man, Romano learned that was not the case.

He would often hear weird noises at night coming from the other rooms. Sometimes loud explosions, other times yelling. Romano was always too scared to go check on his boss; he was admittedly afraid to confront Antonio at night after the attack, and in any event, his boss had specifically instructed him _not_ to investigate odd noises. But what caused such sounds? Perhaps the man was an inventor of sorts? He always forgot to simply _ask_ Antonio what exactly he did for a living. All he currently knew was that it involved dealing with English-speakers and traveling a lot. Antonio had even recently mentioned that he would be going back to Japan this summer to get an ingredient for his tomato fertilizer, and that he would be making a few business stops in different countries along the way.

The strange clamors never woke Romano or stopped him from sleeping, but he would hear them if he got up to use the toilet. He would always wait a minute or two before going back to sleep, until the noise stopped, just in case Antonio started screaming in endless pain and he felt he needed to go fetch Emma. But in the end, Romano went back to bed after hearing nothing, drifting off as soon as he had closed his eyes.

* * *

.

* * *

The new year came suddenly, and as the months passed, Romano realized he had been living in Spain for almost a year now. It seemed only yesterday that he was still living on the farm, sweating outside in the heat as he chopped wood while his brother stayed inside, tending to their ill parents. He wondered about Feliciano and how his brother was doing in Austria, working for that aristocrat. Was Feliciano as well taken care of there, as Romano was here?

He shrugged to himself as he helped Emma fold laundry. He didn't want to think about his brother. Who cared what that do-gooder was up to anyway? Romano knew that it wasn't his brother's fault that their parents had favorited Feliciano while neglecting him, but Feliciano had never really tried to befriend him after returning from Venice. Romano had been hurt at first, even though he also was ignoring his brother. So he told himself that he didn't care about Feliciano. Although he was somewhat thankful the younger boy had wordlessly agreed to take care of their parents, Romano also hated that carefree attitude Feliciano possessed. It was the same sort of positive, hopeful cheeriness he had once thought Antonio had; after seeing the man's bizarre side though, he had changed his mind. Antonio wasn't likely to let people truly take advantage of him (Romano's bossiness aside), whereas Feliciano was the type of person who wouldn't realize his kindness was being abused. So while he wondered if Feliciano was being ordered around over in Austria, Romano reminded himself that he hated his brother's sweetness and if he was being taken advantage of, it was Feliciano's own fault.

Once the laundry was done, he and Emma moved on to dinner. Antonio had already gone to bed hours ago, so it was just the two of them in the kitchen.

"How about some stew for supper?" Emma suggested, already preparing a large pot.

Romano readily agreed. A thick, warm stew would be perfect for a cold night like this one. Emma had told him that they were almost out of the coldest weather, but February could have a freeze or two. "No potatoes... please," he added, watching her chop the vegetables.

"Of course, silly boy," she laughed. "Though I don't see why you dislike them so much. Ze zijn erg lekker."

He stuck his tongue out, making her laugh again. Potatoes and _wurst_ were the most horrid of foods in Romano's opinion. Italian sausage was fine, but that German... _thing_ Emma had served once was nightmare-inducing! Even French food was slightly better, but not by much.

"They taste bad," he replied, setting the table with plates and utensils.

"Ah, but a warm potato and beef stew would be good tonight," she countered, cutting tomatoes. "We're getting a frost, Romano. I can feel it in these old bones."

His eyes widened. "Tonight? Do you really think so?"

The woman nodded. "I've never been wrong before."

As the hours passed, they cooked and ate their stew and then tidied up the kitchen afterward. The temperature continued to drop as Emma had predicted. Romano had to go upstairs and put on a second pair of socks because his feet were so cold. Emma turned in early, claiming the cold air wasn't good for her joints, but Romano continued cleaning downstairs until the kitchen looked spotless, though he knocked over several pots and pans in the process.

He made sure all foods were safely stored away, especially the tomatoes. He wasn't sure where Antonio's special tomatoes were, though he suspected they might be kept in Antonio's bedroom to lessen the chances of other people (namely himself, he suspected) accidentally eating them.

Oh damn, the vegetable garden! If the weather was bad enough, the garden would freeze!

Romano quickly ran to the storeroom behind the kitchen. There, he grabbed a pair of scissors and the large roll of canvas Emma had bought a while back. Romano thanked the heavens that she had bought a waterproof, _thick_ type. Hopefully it would be thick enough to protect the plants. He had done this back on the farm enough times to know that if he moved speedily, the garden would be safe.

He set to work immediately, first going around to the side of the castle by the large stable. The two horses were asleep, but Romano wasn't too concerned about waking them inadvertently. He didn't bother to be quiet as he gathered as many bricks as he could carry. Antonio kept a stack of loose bricks out here, for what reason, Romano did not know, but he was certainly glad of them now. He had to make several trips, as the bricks were quite heavy in his arms and the walk was a long one back to the vegetable garden.

Once he had a tiny pile of bricks, he began to cover each row of plants with a sheet of canvas. He started by placing the loose end of the fabric at the head of a row and weighing it down with a brick. Then he would unroll the canvas until he reached the end of the row, and he would cut the sheet off, weighing that side down with a brick as well. He repeated this for all of the rows, until all of the vegetation was covered.

Running up and down the garden had been tiring, but it was worth it. He had finished in under an hour, and he was actually proud of himself for once. He stood there admiring his work and watching his hot breath materialize in the chilly air. No sense in staying out in this weather; it was even starting to mist. He gazed out into the distance, wondering if it would snow.

Antonio's tomato fields were bathed in light as the moon peeked out from behind a cloud.

Romano looked down at the roll of canvas sitting on the ground. There wasn't nearly enough to cover all of the fields, but... Maybe Antonio would want to cover some of them? He debated for a long time, standing by the garden with his arms full of bricks. His boss had said never to bother him when he was on the third floor... But the tomatoes... Antonio had said something about tomatoes freezing easily, and the special tomatoes took _so long_ to grow... What if they all froze overnight and were damaged? What if Antonio had no more tomatoes? _Would his boss die?_

His throat felt dry and his head was spinning. He had to do something.

Dropping the pile of bricks next to the canvas, Romano ran back inside. He hastened up the stairs until he reached the top floor. Panting, Romano steadied himself on his knees, glancing up and down the long corridor. Unlike the second floor, there was just one hallway with many rooms on either side. Romano didn't know which room Antonio might be working in, but he did know that his boss's bedroom was at the end of the hall. Which he wasn't allowed to walk down.

"Antonio?" he called out hesitantly. "It's me, Romano... I... I know I'm not supposed to bother you, but I was thinking... do you want to cover the tomatoes with some canvas? We have some extra. I know how valuable your tomatoes are and..."

He listened, straining his ears to hear behind closed doors, but Romano heard no answer. "Bastard! Answer me!" he yelled. But again, there came no response. "I... I'm going back outside!" he announced, waiting another few minutes to see if the Spaniard would reveal himself. However, Antonio never appeared.

Swearing, Romano dashed back down the two flights of stairs, nearly tripping as he ran. At the last minute, he ran back up to his bedroom and grabbed the leather gloves, shouting for Antonio one last time but not waiting around for an answer. He came back outside, only to find it was now raining lightly. It also felt even _colder_.

"Damn it," he mumbled, teeth chattering. "What am I supposed to do?"

He had two options. He could either obey his boss and go back inside, and tomorrow they'd probably find all of the tomatoes ruined. Or, he could break the rule and enter the tomato fields, covering some of them and saving them from the harsh weather. Romano found himself staring into nothing after a few minutes. He slapped his cheek; this was no time for aimless thinking!

It was with shaking, wet hands that he picked up the bricks, canvas, and scissors and hurried across the grounds to the wooden fence. He had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the latch, but he finally unlocked the gate. He slid his chilled hands into the leather gloves, and although they didn't offer much warmth, at least they were dry.

Oh, why hadn't he thought to grab his coat, too?! They'd given him a brand new coat for Christmas, and here he went and forgot about it when he needed it most.

Romano entered the tomato fields determinedly, only to catch sight of them and drop all of his equipment. He had also forgotten that Antonio's tomato plants were anywhere from 120 to 150 centimeters tall! A few of the plants were even taller than Romano himself! How was he supposed to cover these?

He looked at the canvas and thought that maybe he had enough to cover one or two rows. Instead of laying it the length of a row, Romano would have to cut sheets and drape them over the top of the plants. He'd need a lot more bricks...

The rain picked up, and Romano decided to do what he could with what he had.

His clothes were rapidly becoming soaked, and his shoes were already drenched. It took him much longer to cover these plants; he weighed down one end of a sheet, draped it over one (two if he was lucky) plant, and then had to wedge through to the other side and weigh down the other end. Because he didn't want to waste time running down to the end of the row and go around each time, this meant that Romano had to brush directly through the tomatoes to get to the other side. While his hands were protected from the thorns, his arms and legs were not. He was so determined in his task, however, that he forgot about the thorns until one cut him across the cheek.

He looked down to find that he had other gashes in his clothes as well. They stung, but the cold wind stung harder, so Romano tried to ignore the pain and focus on his mission. "What the hell am I doing?" he mumbled, lips numb.

"That is what I would like to know."

Romano yelped and dropped the brick he'd been holding, narrowly missing his foot. His head darted up, eyes squinting in the cold rain.

Antonio was staring down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. It didn't look like a happy one, though, and his hands sat on his hips in an impatient and bothered manner.

"You know you're not allowed in here," the Spaniard said, his voice barely audible above the pouring rain. It was the same... his voice was the same as it had sounded the night he attacked Romano.

The boy stammered with numb lips, trying to find the right words. "I-I'm... I'm sorry!" he apologized, shivering from both the cold and his own fear. "I... called your name... tried to... get you," he chattered, his teeth the only part of him moving since the rest of him was frozen in fright. "Emma said... a freeze tonight... so I thought I would... The tomatoes!" His voice was scarcely a whisper, and Romano's heart was beating so fast that he felt it would burst from his chest.

What would happen? Was Antonio going to attack him again? The man was staring at him with _those_ eyes, so cold and uncaring. How could Antonio go from such a cheery idiot to this... this entirely different person!

Antonio's eyes flickered over the covered plants, the bricks, the canvas on the ground, and then back to Romano, whose body had finally recovered from the shock and had started to shiver uncontrollably. It felt like forever before the man spoke again.

"Start cutting the canvas," the Spaniard ordered.

Startled by the unexpected response, Romano fumbled around for the scissors and began cutting sheets. Perhaps Antonio would punish him later; for now, the man seemed to agree that covering the plants was a good idea.

The two worked in silence, Romano cutting the canvas and Antonio covering the plants. The rain didn't seem to bother the man; he was much faster at the job than Romano had been. Where the Spaniard had found extra bricks, Romano didn't know. Had he gone back to the stable when Romano wasn't looking? Or maybe they had been here all along? No, that couldn't be right, surely he would have seen them...

"Romano!"

He glanced up to see Antonio standing over him, his brown bangs plastered to his face with raindrops. "Romano, we need to work quickly," he insisted, glaring at the boy. "You've been staring at the fabric, doing nothing for the past two minutes! Stop daydreaming."

Romano opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't tell if any words came out. His brain felt oddly fuzzy. Antonio was yelling again, but he didn't particularly care. Romano decided not to care about anything then, as his legs gave out. He was dimly aware that Antonio was way too close, but all he managed to say was a half-hearted, slurred "bass-surd", before he slipped into darkness and became aware of absolutely nothing at all.

* * *

The canvas fell from Antonio's hands when Romano dropped into the muddy soil. He had the boy in his arms in an instant. "Romano! Romano!" he yelled, tapping the boy's cheek. He bit his glove between his teeth and pulled it off, feeling Romano's face with his bare hand. It was ice cold.

"What were you thinking?" he asked, cradling the boy to his chest. "What the devil made you come out here, you fool." He picked up Romano and took off, running through the tomatoes and back to the mansion. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ," he said, though he wasn't sure if he was talking about Romano this time, or _himself_.

He all but flew across the grass, flinging open the door and pounding up the stairs. "Emma!" he screamed as he passed the second floor. "Emma, I need you! _Now!_ " Antonio bypassed Romano's bedroom and headed straight for his own. He practically kicked the door in out of anger.

Emma appeared barely a minute later, looking disheveled and sleepy. Upon seeing Romano, however, she perked up in alarm, and Antonio passed the boy into her arms. He ignored her questions of what happened and strode over to the fireplace, calling up a large fire. He then pushed his large bed as close to the fire as he could get it, placing the grate in between.

He took Romano back out of Emma's hold. "I need you to go get clean, warm clothes of his," Antonio ordered swiftly. "If he doesn't have any warm ones, bring several pairs. And blankets! Bring as many as you can," he called after her as she fled the room. Antonio took Romano into the adjoining bathroom, laying him gently on the stone floor.

Damn, there was only one fresh towel in here? It would have to do. "I won't let you die," he whispered as he pulled off Romano's wet things. "You can't die on me now, you hear?" The boy looked so lifeless that Antonio had to check twice to make sure he was still breathing. His pulse was there, but it was slow. As he removed the boy's shirt, Antonio frowned at all of the scratches made by the tomato thorns. He ran his thumb over the cut on Romano's cheek. "Stupid boy," he mumbled. Discarding the last of Romano's clothes, Antonio wrapped him in the dry towel and brought him back into the bedroom. He yanked back the blanket and sheets, laying Romano gently on the bed, close to the fire.

Emma returned shortly with clothes, blankets, and bandages. Apparently she had noticed Romano's wounds, too. She gently untied the towel and began to wrap the worst of the gashes.

"After you finish that, get some of the hot water containers and bed warmers and put them in the bed with him," Antonio ordered.

"Where are you going?" she asked, watching him head out into the hallway. "Antonio, what happened? You didn't attack him again, did you?" He shook his head but didn't elaborate, storming out of the room without a second glance.

"I have a job to finish."

* * *

.

* * *

 _Ze zijn erg lekker - They are very delicious_

 _120-150 cm = about 4-5 ft_

* * *

 _I know I said things were looking up for Romano... and then this happens. But everything happens for a reason! Every scene is written with a purpose, and I do promise that things are improving for our little tomato~_

 _Next chapter will reveal a bit more of Antonio's background, and there will also be some cute BossSpain/ChibiRomano moments. There was supposed to be more fluff in this chapter, but it grew too long._

 _I enjoyed reading all of your reviews on the last chapter! I always try to answer them without giving away too much of the story, but if you aren't signed in, I can't respond to you personally without an email. However, many of you have been asking... and yes, North Italy will make an appearance later in the story :D_


	8. Chapter 8

Notes: Sorry for the update being a little late. I was at a convention all weekend, and this chapter just would not end! I kept trying to wrap up the last scene, but the characters refused to cooperate.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

* * *

 **.**

* * *

Antonio didn't return until more than two hours later.

He stopped just shy of the bedroom, pausing to catch his breath. He could hear Emma's sweet voice humming softly but nothing else, and he entered the room to find her checking on Romano's wet clothes, which were hanging over the fireplace to dry.

Antonio's attention was drawn to the bed. Romano lay in the middle, surrounded by two bed warmers and several glass water bottles, all wrapped in cloths so as to not burn the boy's skin should he touch them. Romano himself was wearing several layers of clothing, tucked beneath four warm blankets. All Antonio could see of him was his face peeking above the covers. His cheeks were bright red with fever.

"He's got a cold," Emma said, noticing her boss had returned. "I finally got his body to warm up, but then it went up too much. I hope it's not pneumonia." Then she took a good look at the man. "Antonio! You're soaking wet!"

"I wonder why?" he mocked sarcastically. "It's not like there's a storm raging outside..."

Emma glared fiercely, but he didn't care. He was in no mood for her scoldings right now. All he really wanted to do was attend to Romano, but he knew Emma wouldn't let him near the boy while he was dripping water everywhere. "I'm taking a hot bath," he announced, grabbing a spare towel and marching into the bathroom. "Alert me if his condition worsens." He slammed the door behind him.

The hot water of the bath was scalding against his skin, but Antonio welcomed the pain. He sank into the tub, surrendering to the steam and heat that washed away the outside chill. He knew he wouldn't catch a cold, but he was ultimately responsible for the one Romano was currently fighting.

Antonio had heard his voice earlier. He'd heard Romano calling for him, voice too far to hear fully, but Antonio had ignored the boy. Didn't Romano know that the man was incredibly busy? Hadn't he told Romano several times not to bother him? Antonio felt that if he had gone out into the hall, he would have yelled at Romano and made the boy cry. So he chose to ignore him and continue with his work. Romano's voice had faded away, and Antonio had thought that was the end of it. He would confront the boy about it tomorrow morning, when he would be in a better mood.

But then Romano had gone and entered the tomato fields without permission. Antonio had been in the library at the time, but he had torn down a curtain to look out the window, and, sure enough, there was Romano, nosing around where he shouldn't. Antonio was livid. He had trusted Romano. And now the boy had broken two rules in less than twenty minutes. What had gotten into the little Italian? Was he getting back at Antonio for injuring his neck? Had he been wrong about the boy?

Antonio should have known that Romano had good intentions.

The boy was trying to save the tomatoes from the frosty conditions. On his way out there, Antonio had seen how Romano had protected the vegetable garden, and now he was trying to do the same for Antonio's tomatoes. He should have known better than to think Romano would break his rules for anything other than an emergency. Although this wasn't _really_ an emergency, since most of the tomatoes probably would have survived the frost. True, he would have lost some, but not nearly as many, had they been ordinary tomatoes. Of course, how would Romano know that Antonio's special tomatoes were grown with a bit of weather resistance? Antonio had forgotten to mention that when he had given a tour of the fields. Romano was just doing what he thought was right. It was Antonio's fault for not telling the boy.

It was Antonio's fault that Romano had thought the tomato fields needed protecting. When he had demanded to know why Romano was in the field without permission, the boy's answer had surprised him. Until he remembered that Romano didn't know the entire truth. _You could have told him and then brought him right back inside_ , Emma would say. But Antonio hadn't thought of that, and, even if had, he probably wouldn't have told Romano anyway. The boy already knew too much; Antonio wanted to trust him completely, but after what happened with Carlos... he could never be too careful.

So he agreed to help Romano cover the plants. It was actually a good idea, and they may have possibly saved almost _all_ of the tomatoes. Antonio had been foolish to think he could escape the winter without at least one good freeze; he was honestly surprised they hadn't had a harsher cold season. Just when he had thought he was in the clear...

Antonio soaked in the warm water for a long time, lost in his thoughts, before he finally climbed out of the tub to dry off. He patted and fluffed his hair until it was no longer dripping, and then he wrapped the towel around his waist and exited the bathroom.

Romano was still safely tucked in to bed, cheeks as red as before, but now he was breathing in and out visibly. He was no longer the lifeless, cold body he'd been earlier; Antonio never wanted to see that again. Emma was dabbing at the boy's forehead with a cool cloth, and she had removed the hot water bottles from the bed and placed them on the mantle. The bed warmers had been shifted down to the foot of the bed, away from Romano.

"He's cooled down a bit, but the fever is still steady," Emma said without looking up when she heard the bathroom door open. "Now that you're back, I was thinking of making him some soup for when he wakes." She glanced up. "Allemachtig!" she cried, noticing Antonio's state of undress. "Put some clothes on, ja?"

He rolled his eyes but nevertheless strode over to his wardrobe. Feeling Emma's gaze on his back, Antonio made a show of opening the wooden doors, before dropping his towel to the ground.

" _Would you quit doing that?_ " she screeched. "At least warn me before you get naked!"

Antonio snickered at the old woman's propriety, but he pulled on a pair of breeches to satisfy her. He turned around and waggled his eyebrows in her direction. "Oh, calm yourself, Emma," he teased. "It's nothing you haven't seen before..."

She fixed him with a harsh scowl. "I'm an old woman, you miscreant. Can't you just leave me be?"

He shrugged, tugging on a shirt. "But where's the fun in that?" He was met with another icy glare, to which he offered a devious smile. However, as much as he enjoyed toying with Emma when he was stressed, Antonio had more important things to worry about. "Now, be a dear and make me some tomato juice, would you?"

Emma's face grew red, but before she could ramble off into a long lecture about calling her _dear_ , Antonio continued. "I'll be in the laboratory," he told her, "but I'll have the doors open in case Romano wakes so I can hear him."

"What do you need to do in there?" she asked, confused as to why he planned on leaving the sick boy alone.

He turned to the Italian cocooned in blankets, watching the boy's chest rise and fall with every labored breath. "He needs some tea."

Emma's brows rose. "But... Antonio, you've already exerted yourself too much in the past few hours! All that canvas... and you think you have enough energy to brew a–"

"That is neither here nor there," he interrupted firmly. "I owe it to Romano... Now, would you _please_ go make me some tomato juice?" he asked again pointedly.

Understanding dawned across her face. Emma nodded and bustled out of the room. Antonio cast another look at Romano, before he, too, left, heading to the next room over.

He threw open the double doors and stalked into the laboratory. The room had once been three separate bedrooms, but the walls had been knocked down to create one large space. Candles flickered to life in the old chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, and Antonio lit a fire beneath the tea kettle in the hearth. While he waited for the water to boil, he dug around his herb cabinet, pushing jars and containers of various ingredients aside, looking for one in particular. Aha! His fist closed tightly around the little blue bottle, and he pulled it out of the cabinet. There wasn't much left... just enough for Romano. He would have to stop in China and get more during his next trip.

Antonio returned to the kettle, prodding it along until it began to boil. He uncorked the bottle and dumped its contents into a small bowl, crushing the flowers a little between his fingers. Then he poured the hot water over the petals, causing the mixture to let off a heavy white smoke. Next, Antonio ran over to another table piled high with books of all shapes and sizes. He rummaged around for a minute before finding the one he was looking for. He flipped through it quickly, skimming over the recipe he needed, before tossing it back onto the pile.

The stewing tea was now giving off a pleasant smell, and Antonio carefully added a spoonful of honey, watching the liquid turn a pale orange. Then he ran back to the cabinet and browsed it again, this time retrieving a jar of ground pepper. He added a few handfuls of that to the tea, causing it to hiss and become a dark red. After another few hisses and a few choice words from Antonio, the tea calmed and returned to a shade of amber. He gripped the edge of the table forcefully as he felt the strength slip out of him. "What good is brewing this... if I can't make it back to the bedroom?" he growled, calling upon all of the energy remaining in his body.

Antonio grabbed the little bowl of tea and carefully walked back to his bedroom. Emma was nowhere in sight, but his tomato juice did take a while to make, so he really hadn't expected her to be back yet. Romano was still resting, though his cheeks appeared less red than before, or maybe Antonio was just imagining it.

He would have to wake the boy. Antonio perched on the corner of the bed, next to the Italian, holding the tea bowl in one hand and stroking Romano's hair with the other.

"Romano," he whispered forcefully. "Romano... _Expergiscere!_ "

The boy drowsily opened his eyes, which looked red and irritated. "Antonio?" he asked tiredly.

"Yes, I'm here," he answered, shuffling closer to the boy. "Romano, I need you to drink this."

The boy looked in Antonio's direction with unfocused eyes, before his lids fluttered closed again. He leaned his face into Antonio's touch, letting out a deep sigh as he started to fall back asleep.

"Romano, I need you to wake up," the Spaniard urged, using the hand curled under the boy's head to nudge a pink cheek with his fingers. "Stay with me. _Mane mecum_."

Romano blinked and gave him a glossy look. "Va bene... bastardo."

Antonio helped him sit up, sliding his hand down to Romano's shoulder and letting the boy rest against his arm. Romano slumped into the curve of Antonio's side. "Here," the Spaniard said, holding the bowl to Romano's lips. "Drink this."

Romano took a small sip of the tea, and then he broke off, gagging and gasping for air. "Che diavolo è questo!" He took deep breaths and turned his nose up at the tea. "Are you trying to poison me?" he accused, trying to get away from the man. However, he was sick and weak, so he tired immediately and fell back against Antonio. "That stuff is ghastly!"

Another time, he probably would have cooed over how adorable his henchman was acting–it was the first time Romano had ever called him _Antonio_ instead of "bastard", albeit in a state of delirium (aside from _that night_ when Romano had cried his name out in fear)–but right now, Antonio was impatient and perfectly serious. "It will make you feel better, I promise. But you have to drink _all_ of it _."_

Whether it was because he was too scared of Antonio's strict attitude or because he was too exhausted to argue, Romano nodded and took a few more sips, coughing profoundly each time. "What _is_ this?" he asked again, turning his watery eyes to his boss.

"Plumajillo," Antonio answered, squeezing Romano's side encouragingly as the boy had another coughing fit. "You're almost done."

Romano choked on the last gulp, but he managed to swallow all of it. Antonio laid him back down against the sheets, wiping at the tears that had slipped out during his gagging bursts. Romano mumbled something incoherent before rolling onto his side, clutching at the pillow, and falling into a deep sleep.

Antonio collapsed into the armchair next to the bed. He had used too much of his energy canvasing the tomato fields, and then he had overdone it brewing the tea and helping Romano. He might even pass out before Emma returned with his juice. He glanced at Romano, whose fever was receding. Antonio had strained himself greatly, but it was worth it.

" _You're_ worth it," he told the sleeping boy.

Antonio was about to give in to the fatigue plaguing his body, when Emma arrived with a pitcher of tomato juice. She held it up as Antonio took long, contented drinks, until he felt he could hold it on his own. "I'm sorry I took so long," she apologized, going to check on Romano. "But you looked so worn that I made extra– mijn God!" She had placed her hand on Romano's forehead. "His fever has broken! So quickly..." She rounded on her boss. " _Antonio!_ It's a wonder you didn't faint from exhaustion," she marveled, before her amazement turned to reprehension. "You shouldn't push yourself like that! I thought you were brewing some medicinal tea, not whipping up an instant cure!"

He finished guzzling the tomato juice and dropped the pitcher with a satisfied clang. Feeling a trail of juice creep down his chin, he lifted a hand and passed it onto his thumb, which he then licked clean.

"I'm fine," he lied, growing bored of the woman's nagging. "Would you just calm down? All of your unnecessary chatter is giving me a headache."

The grimace she sent his way would have terrified an ordinary man. "Well _excuse me_ , _señor_ , but I thought _you_ were the smart one," she rebutted, refusing to back down. "You have no excuse!"

Antonio glowered back at her. "No excuse? _No excuse?_ " he snarled. He jabbed a finger at the bed where Romano was slumbering. " _That_ looks like a perfectly good excuse to me!"

They loured at each other, neither willing to concede defeat for a few minutes. Then finally, Emma sighed and looked at Romano. "I just worry about you," she said at last.

He snorted. "We both know nothing serious would happen to me. I'd lose consciousness for, what, a few days? Nothing we can't handle." He checked over Romano once more before standing. "I'm going back to the lab; I need to finish the latest batch of fertilizer before it goes bad. Yell for me if something happens with Romano."

"Wait!" Emma called, halting Antonio in his path to the doorway. He looked to her impatiently, but his gaze softened when she gestured to Romano. "Antonio... There's something I think you should see."

He trudged back over to the bed curiously. "What is it?"

Emma gently pulled down the blankets that protected Romano from the cold. Antonio was about to say something about not disturbing the boy, but Emma didn't remove the sheets completely, only enough to reveal Romano's backside, since the boy had rolled onto his stomach.

Carefully, Emma lifted the back of Romano's shirt to expose the bare skin beneath.

Antonio's lips pressed into a thin line at what he saw. Long, thin scars marred Romano's olive skin. The marks weren't fresh, but Antonio could tell that they had been deep and painful when they were first made. He clutched one of the bedposts dangerously.

"I found these when I was dressing his other wounds," Emma explained in a horrified whisper. "I've never seen them before, but they don't look new... I always wondered why he never let me wash his back in the bath. Still...how could I not see these until now?"

"Maybe your eyesight is going," he responded sarcastically, trying to stay calm. _Don't think murderous thoughts. Don't think about ripping the perpetrator limb from limb..._

"I'm not blind!" she seethed. "I swear, either they weren't visible before or he has just been very good at hiding them. Who would do such a thing to this sweet boy?"

"Whoever they are, they'll be lucky if they are already dead," Antonio answered savagely, his nails digging into the wood of the bed frame. Whoever had done this to Romano would _pay_. His halberd had been itching for a good slaughter lately...

"Keep watch over him," he ordered, once again heading for the door. "I need to do something productive before I turn useless come dawn."

Antonio had left the room and closed the door behind him before Emma could even open her mouth. She huffed.

"Don't get carried away," she muttered to the door. Then she set her attention on patching Romano's finally-dry shirt hanging from a hook over the fireplace. She couldn't very well go back to sleep now.

* * *

It was uncomfortably warm when Romano came to. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt tired and heavy. His arms, too, felt like they weighed a substantial amount, when he made to rub at his eyelids in case they had been stuck shut with sleep. He found he couldn't lift his legs either, or any other part of his body. Either he had gained a ton of weight, or he lacked the strength to do anything at all.

How did this happen? Romano tried to recall... He had been in the tomato fields, trying to protect them from the weather... Antonio had been there, too! But he hadn't attacked or grown angry; instead, he had even offered to help! But then what?

Romano remembered the tomato bastard making him drink something horrid. Medicine, probably, he realized. He must have passed out from the cold in the fields. Romano felt his cheeks heat from embarrassment. What sort of servant fainted while working? Oh no, if he had fainted shortly after Antonio joined him... then... the tomatoes!

 _It had all been for nothing._

Romano's tears licked the skin beneath his eyes, and he finally blinked. The first thing he saw was the underside of a wooden canopy, extending from the bed he was laying on. This was definitely not his own bedroom. Curtains were drawn tightly over a window to the right, and to the left there was a grand fireplace.

Above the mantle hung a painting of a beautiful woman. Romano gazed at the picture, drawn by the woman's familiar twinkling green eyes. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a fancy knot, and she was wearing an elegant red dress. Her smile seemed to suggest that she knew a secret, something of which the viewer of the picture was not aware. He scowled back at her, the muscles in his face moving in protest.

While his strength might be recovering, Romano also noticed that he _had_ gained quite a bit of weight... on top of him, at least. He was currently pinned down by several thick blankets, drawn tight and probably tucked under the mattress. No wonder he couldn't move. Not to mention...

The tomato bastard was slumped over the side of the bed, practically falling out of the chair he had been sitting in, his left hand clutching Romano's right one.

The boy blushed and tugged at his hand, but Antonio only held on tighter. Romano then wriggled around the blankets to free his other arm, and finally after several minutes of struggling, he had his left arm above the quilts. He grabbed his right wrist with his free hand and tugged again. This time, he only succeeded in dragging Antonio further onto the bed with him.

"Damn it, bastard, wake up," he groaned, attempting to wrestle his hand away again. "You're cutting off the circulation!"

Antonio's lips lifted at the sound of Romano's voice. He squeezed the boy's hand, nuzzling it with his cheek. "Romano..." he mumbled.

The Italian gave one last yank, effectively jostling their joined hands and hitting Antonio square on the nose. Scrunching his face in pain, the Spaniard slowly woke and sleepily peered at Romano. His eyes closed again, but then, realizing his henchman was awake and moving, Antonio jerked up, sliding completely out of his chair, now half on the bed and half on the floor.

"Romano! You're awake," he exclaimed happily, throwing himself onto the bed to hug the boy. "You had me so worried, Roma!"

Romano found himself smothered by the man. "Get off me, bastard!" he screeched, both angry and embarrassed. "Do you want to crush me to death?"

Antonio shifted so that he was no longer crushing the boy, but he remained close enough to cuddle, much to Romano's dislike. "Sorry, Roma, I was just so happy to see that you're awake! You were out for hours."

"It was probably that damn medicine you gave me," Romano replied brusquely. "That tasted vile!"

His boss laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, Roma. But it did bring your fever down! I was just so worried..." His face grew serious. "Don't _ever_ do that again, Roma."

Romano played with his hands guiltily. "I... I'm s-sorry..." He turned to Antonio, eyes shining with tears. "I know I'm not allowed in the tomato fields, but I thought your tomatoes would freeze and then you wouldn't have any and you might die–I mean..." He flushed at this admission of concern. "I thought you'd be more upset if you had no tomatoes and I know you're mad, but please don't hurt me!" he cried, looking to his boss with desperation.

Antonio, who had started to look confused during Romano's rapidly delivered speech, stared at the boy in surprise. His shock quickly melted into one of the warmest smiles Romano had ever seen, a smile that made Romano feel immensely embarrassed.

The Spaniard pulled him into a tight hug, and Romano found himself tucked securely into Antonio's shoulder.

"I'm not mad at you for going into the tomato fields, Roma," he said softly, running his hand through Romano's hair gently. "I should have known that you wouldn't break my rules for anything less than of the utmost importance."

The boy tried to push away from the man's embrace, but Antonio clutched him closely. Romano was grateful that the man couldn't see his face, which was burning with feelings.

"However, I am upset with you," Antonio continued, keeping his voice as kind as before.

 _Here it comes..._ Romano held his breath and waited for the man to deliver a punishment.

"I don't ever want you to put yourself in danger like that again, Roma," Antonio told him. "I'm upset because you didn't think about the consequences of what you were doing. You could have become seriously ill or _died_. Don't ever do anything so foolish again, do you understand, Romanito?"

He kept his nose firmly tucked into the fabric of Antonio's shirt so that the man couldn't see how red his face had become. Romano felt as if he couldn't breathe. Antonio wasn't mad about him entering the fields... Antonio was mad that Romano had put himself at risk... Antonio sounded like he might even _care_ about–

But no one had ever cared about Romano.

And why should they? There was nothing special or interesting about himself. Romano had no redeeming qualities. He wasn't a likeable boy with his sour personality. Antonio couldn't possibly care about him. No one could. If Romano had died, Antonio would have to find a new servant, that was all. Yes, that made sense, that's what the man was worried about. With his bratty attitude and lack of cleaning abilities, Romano had been the last ditch effort; he was only here because Emma hadn't been able to find anyone else. Romano had never been and never would be anyone's first choice. Feliciano had always been the preferred one. His parents, the other villagers, his grandfather... even Antonio, if he ever met the younger Italian, would choose his brother over him. Romano would always be the last resort.

"Okay, okay, I get it, bastard," he mumbled, struggling again to remove himself from Antonio's grip.

His boss reluctantly let him go, pulling back to regard Romano carefully. "Do you?" he asked quietly.

"I won't try to save your stupid tomatoes anymore, I got it," Romano replied, crawling as far away as he could without leaving the bed.

"Oh, Roma, I _did_ appreciate your concern, you know."

Romano blushed. "I wasn't concerned!" he spluttered, watching Antonio's smile grow. "I... I was just... Without you, I won't get properly fed or taken care of! That's all! Bastard!"

"Haha, okay then, Roma, I'll just have to make sure you are properly fed and well taken care of," Antonio promised. The intensity and sincerity in his voice caused Romano to blush that much more.

"Oh my God," the man cooed, so loudly that Romano fell off of the bed in a startled shock. Antonio laughed and squealed again. "Your face was soooo red and cute, just like a little tomato~"

"Shut up, bastard!" the boy ordered, trying to stand and look dignified while his face threatened to turn redder (it wasn't easy). Searching for something to change the subject, he mumbled, "I... I really am sorry about the tomatoes, though..."

"It's all right, Roma; I'm not mad about it," Antonio replied, shaking his head. "Just don't do it again, okay? My rules are still in place."

"I know that! I was talking about the tomatoes, bastard," he ranted. Sometimes the man could be so frustrating! Romano childishly grabbed and threw one of the pillows right into Antonio's face. "It turned out to be a useless plan after all..."

Removing the pillow from his head, Antonio's brows wrinkled in puzzlement. "Useless? What are you talking about?"

"Because I passed out..." the boy reminded, ears turning pink. "We couldn't finish covering the tomatoes..." He glanced up at his boss, expecting to see the man nodding sadly. Instead, Antonio's trademark smile was shining from ear to ear. Romano was thoroughly confounded. "Bastard, why are you so happy?"

"You'll see~" his boss sang. And before Romano could even put up a fight or let out a swear, Antonio had scooped up the boy and draped the Italian over his head, legs resting on either of the Spaniard's shoulder.

Romano stammered in protest. "Wha–let go! Put me down, you bastard!" he shouted, clinging to the man as Antonio walked across the room to a set of double doors and opening them. "Non sono io un po troppo vecchio per questo genere di cose?" he muttered, letting out a shriek as his face almost collided with the wall.

"Watch your head," his boss warned, ducking under the door frame so Romano wouldn't knock into the stone. They came out to a decent-sized balcony that overlooked the back of the grounds. Antonio stood by the railing, and although Romano wasn't afraid of heights, the boy was glad Antonio was holding him steady by the legs.

"What are we doing out here?" he asked, squinting in the sunlight and staring out at the land.

Then Romano gasped. The tomato fields... All of them were covered in canvas! Row after row, field after field, each and every plant was protected. But... how? Romano's jaw went slack as he took in the scene. How were they all covered? Had Antonio done it... by _himself?!_

"...how?" was all that he could ask.

Antonio shrugged. "I had some extra canvas stored away. I never would have thought to use it on the fields, though." He tilted his head up to look at Romano. "That was smart, Roma," he praised.

Romano had possibly blushed a hundred times in the past ten minutes. "It was nothing... anyone could have thought of that," he argued. He was trying to brush off the compliment, but he realized it probably sounded like he was insinuating that Antonio was stupid. _Which he is_ , Romano thought. _But..._

"I didn't want your sickness to be in vain," the man explained, shrugging again.

"Bastard," the boy murmured, though it seemed to lack the usual insult.

They stood on the balcony for a while longer, both content to just watch the scenery and admire their handiwork. The mood was pleasant and peaceful, and Romano was starting to calm down from all of the anxiety Antonio had caused with his attention and kind words. He really should tell the bastard to let him down, but when he pictured Antonio out in the rain, canvasing the fields all alone, Romano felt responsible, so he decided to let the tomato bastard have this moment. But just this one.

Until Romano's stomach let out a resounding growl.

His boss chuckled. "It is after lunch, isn't it? And you never had breakfast, Roma. I bet you're starving!" The man led them back inside, once again crouching under the doorway for Romano's safety. He deposited the boy back onto the bed and went about tidying up the room while he chatted. "So, what would you like to eat, Roma? Oh! I have an idea!" Antonio said excitedly, dropping the blanket he was folding and rushing to Romano's side. The enthusiasm was radiating from the Spaniard so profoundly that Romano found himself leaning back.

"Roma, you haven't tried churros yet!" Antonio exclaimed breathlessly, and Romano could swear that there were stars in those bright green eyes.

"What is churros, bastard?" he asked, still thrown off by his boss's sudden burst of exhilaration. "It's just food, right? Why are you going crazy?"

Antonio's joy paused as he gave Romano a look of disbelief. "Churros aren't 'just food'... they're amazing and _heavenly_. Oh, I can't wait until you try one; you're going to love them! I know you like Emma's waffles, so you're going to _love_ churros! They're sweet and delicious and oh, so _so_ good!"

Watching Antonio bounce around the room, describing this wonderful dessert, Romano found himself dazed. How could one person be so scary and serious and then suddenly so giddy and... infectious... Romano's lips quirked.

No, no, no. He was _not_ smiling at the Spaniard's ridiculous behavior.

"Whatever, bastard, just hurry up! I'm hungry, damn it," Romano interrupted.

Antonio grinned and finished folding the blankets, telling Romano to rest a bit longer while he made the churros. The man set the blankets on top of his wardrobe before going over to the mantle to collect the hot water bottles. Romano was again drawn to the painting over the fireplace.

"Bastard, who's that?" he asked, staring at the woman. Was she perhaps his mother?

Antonio was busy trying to balance five bottles in his arms. "Who's who?"

"The lady in the painting," he elaborated, gesturing.

Antonio followed his gaze, and the Spaniard's cheery mood faded when he found what Romano was inquiring about. "Oh, her." His boss had grown strangely quiet, but Romano could sense that it wasn't the same no-nonsense aura that had been in the tomato fields last night and had choked him months ago. Antonio seemed... sad.

"That," the Spaniard replied faintly, "is my sister."

Romano looked back and forth between Antonio and the woman. No wonder she had seemed familiar: they had the same eyes and similar facial structures. So his boss had a sister... where was she? Emma had never mentioned any of Antonio's family, only that he didn't have any children.

"Does she live here, too?" he asked, wondering if she traveled for business as well.

Antonio wordlessly stared at the picture for a very long time. He seemed so sad and lost in his thoughts that Romano was afraid to speak again and startle him. He regretted ever asking about the painting.

"No, she doesn't," the man finally answered, turning away from the woman and back to Romano. He smiled weakly at the boy. "She died a long time ago."

"Oh." Romano felt even worse now. "I... I'm sorry."

Antonio realized his somber mood was affecting Romano as well. "It's fine, Roma, I'm not upset that you asked," he explained. "It was a long time ago, after all."

 _How did she die?_ Romano wondered. Antonio frowned and stared at him so hard, Romano realized he must have accidentally asked that aloud! He clapped his hands over his mouth apologetically. "I'm sorry!" he said again, hoping the man wouldn't abruptly switch into his angry state.

Antonio's stare softened. "It's okay, Roma," he told the boy, sensing his distress. He looked back to the painting. "My sister... She was murdered, killed by a man she loved and thought loved her. He is a wicked being, and he deceived her until the very end."

Romano found that he had nothing to say. _I'm sorry_ just didn't sound good enough. Antonio felt so far away at that moment, and Romano just wasn't used to comforting people. He barely knew how to comfort himself, and that usually meant running away from things or ignoring them.

"I'm sure she is in a better place," Antonio said at last. "At least she's safe."

Noticing Romano's sorrowful face, Antonio returned to smiling. "Chin up, Roma. It happened a long time ago; no need to be so sad," he informed the boy. "Besides... you can't eat churros if you're sad! They taste much better with a smile!" And suddenly his boss was back to smiling ridiculously.

"Well, get to it then, bastard," he ordered, scowling as Antonio laughed again and practically skipped from the room.

Such a bizarre man.

But... Romano found his dislike of the Spaniard slipping.

* * *

.

* * *

 _Allemachtig - Good lord_

 _Expergiscere - Wake up_

 _Mane mecum - Stay with me_

 _Va bene - Okay/all right_

 _Che diavolo è questo - What the hell is this?_

 _Non sono io un po troppo vecchio per questo genere di cose - Aren't I a bit too old for this sort of thing?_

 _Plumajillo - achillea millefolium, more commonly called the yarrow flower_

* * *

 _Again, I'm sorry I didn't get this up by Monday. This scene just would. not. end. I had planned on 3 other scenes in this chapter, but now they've been pushed back!_

 _Much fluff here though, yes? Are you all waiting for romance? I know I am. I'm going through Spamano withdrawals. Writing this fluff... I have to remind myself frequently that_ no _, I can't write anything romantic because Romano's only 11 years old! The Spamano will have to wait. I ship them so hard though..._

 _So, several things revealed about Antonio this chapter! Thoughts?_

 _Plumajillo (yarrow) is used in medicinal teas to help reduce fever, though it doesn't normally give off a smoke heh. The recipe Antonio uses is actually from a pagan website full of other recipes like that one. And back in the 1800s, modern hot water bottles made of rubber had yet to be introduced, so people used bottles and containers made from metal, stone, or glass._

 _Next time... scars, churros, and maybe even... music~? :D_


	9. Chapter 9

Notes: For some reason, fanfiction won't upload .docx files at the moment! It took me a while to figure out that while it won't load docx, it _will_ accept doc files. Weird.

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

* * *

.

* * *

It happened not long after his eighth birthday, back before he had changed his name. In fact, it was the incident that caused him to shed the name Lovino, during one of their rare trips to Rome–this time for Easter Sunday.

His parents had previously been avid church-goers, and he could remember attending mass at least once a month as a toddler. However, several months after Feliciano was born, their mother caught cholera and grew very ill. She survived, but her health never fully recovered and she was limited to menial work around the house. They had stopped riding into town regularly around that time. From then on, the Vargas family only ventured to Rome for holiday mass, or if Lovino's father wanted to sell at the larger market in the city square.

After Feliciano had left for Venice, their parents' health began to decline, and city trips became even rarer. That year, they had missed Christmas, so his parents decided to make an effort to attend church on Easter. Lovino both liked and despised such trips. He enjoyed getting away from farmwork and visiting Rome and church, but he hated how his parents lied about things to strangers. People would ask how the farm was doing, and his father would lie, saying he was taking great care of it and that it was thriving. His mother would lie about how close they were to the rich grandfather that Feliciano was living with (they _loved_ to brag about Feliciano). Lovino hated how his parents would lie about _him_. They would tell anyone that he was an unruly brat with no respect towards others, or that he refused to help with chores (when actually, he was the one doing all of the work!). Strangers always cast him looks of complete disdain and hatred; clearly they hadn't forgotten the accident with that creepy French priest all those years ago. Everyone had seen the man trip and fall down the cathedral steps, but they had somehow found a way to blame it on Lovino. He suspected this may have been the root of his parents' attitude towards him, but he would never know for sure.

Worst of all about these outings, though, was that his mother would actually pay attention to him, fixing his clothes and making him look decent, as if she actually cared. It was all for show, of course, but Lovino hated it because sometimes... sometimes he wanted to believe a part of her did it because she might truly care. He knew it wasn't true, but he couldn't stop himself from hoping, from relishing in the attention she gave him for all of ten minutes.

Lovino hated his parents, but sometimes he hated himself just as much.

The journey into town hadn't been too bad. His mother let him ride on her horse, instead of walking next to it like he was forced to sometimes; she claimed she was too ill to steer, so she allowed him to sit in front and hold the reigns, following his father down the small road to Rome. The church service was interesting, and only a few people engaged with his parents, and Lovino thought the day might progress without issue.

After the service, his father took his mother to see a nearby doctor, leaving Lovino with the horses that were tied to a fence a little ways from the cathedral. He didn't mind; he could sit and enjoy the breeze and look at the clouds in the sky and not have to worry for once about chores. There was a group of children playing nearby, but he didn't dare try to join them; certainly one of them had a parent who'd spun stories of how he pushed an innocent priest down the stairs. Lovino was fine by himself, though. He was used to being alone.

After imagining pictures in the clouds for a few minutes, the children's voices and shrieks grew louder, and Lovino was able to hear what they were discussing.

"Agh! It almost scratched me!"

"Don't be a baby! Poke it with the stick again!"

"Let's throw rocks at it!"

"Yeah!"

Lovino looked over to see the children had formed a circle around something, kicking at it and prodding it with sticks. Whatever it was, a male voice was crying out for help. Were they kicking another child? He was very hesitant to intervene, but then the victim started talking about threatening the other children.

"Hey!" Lovino shouted, running over. "Get away from there!"

The children, poor city urchins, were annoyed at being interrupted, but they stopped their harassment for the moment. "And who are you to tell us what to do?" one boy asked.

"He says he's going to kill you all if you don't stop," Lovino told them, slowing his run as he joined the others. "He's got a friend in Ja-Pan who will curse you and– " The children parted so that he could see who was in the middle.

– _and it was a cat._

The children were all staring him with wide, scared eyes. The cat was watching him, too. It was an ugly gray and white thing, with long, dirty fur. It watched him closely, a vague and bored expression on its face.

"He's crazy," the first boy said, pointing at Lovino. "He thinks he can talk to cats!"

"The cat is going to kill us?" another boy asked. "Of course it is! That's why we're gonna kill it first! It has a devil mark on it." The boy pointed at a splotch of white fur on the cat, where a heart-shaped patch of gray hairs resided. "It's also been sleeping outside my neighbor's house for five days!"

Lovino glanced around the circle, noticing how the kids gripped their sticks and rocks. "Just let me take the cat, and... and I'll be going," he said, inching his way towards the feline.

The cat surprisingly didn't move, and it actually looked as though it was encouraging Lovino to pick it up... so he did. The children all watched with bated breath, their terrified and angry eyes following Lovino as he carried the cat away, talking to it.

"Hey, I know who that is! It's the demon-child who killed that priest!"

"Yeah, I recognize him, too. You can tell it's him because of that stupid curl on his head!"

"He's probably friends with that demonic cat. He's talking to it!"

"Let's teach him a lesson!"

"Pull out his curl!"

"Get him!"

Lovino peered over his shoulder to see all of the brats chasing after him now, their sticks waving in the air. He broke out into a run, struggling to carry the fat cat at such a fast pace. He headed straight for the church. While he wasn't exactly liked there, since they all thought he attacked that priest, he knew at least that the children wouldn't beat him up on sacred ground. Or, if they tried to, the priests would stop them.

He darted into the church, immediately taking a side corridor and dashing up a staircase, unnoticed by anyone. He hid in one of the lesser-used rooms, which thankfully had a lock. He closed the door and locked it, hearing the crowd of children burst into the chapel below. A few moments later, he could hear them telling a priest what happened, although the man was also scolding them for making so much noise.

He would be safe for a while.

Lovino sat down on the floor and leaned against a cabinet while he caught his breath. The cat, which was still in his arms, yawned and curled up into a ball in his lap. Lovino checked the cat over; it had a few scratches and was very dirty, but otherwise it appeared to be okay.

"You'll be fine now," he told the cat, carefully running a hand through the fur.

Lovino really didn't want to believe the other children, but... was it his imagination, or was the cat talking back?

"You're welcome," he replied, petting the cat a bit more. "Those kids shouldn't hurt you just because you have a weird patch of fur that looks like a heart."

…

"Oh, it _is_ a heart? That's... nice. You know, I've never talked to a cat before," Lovino said, looking down at the feline. "Do all cats talk, or just you?"

…

"So you're under some kind of spell?"

…

"Well, I can't help you get to Ja-Pan, since I'm only a kid and I don't even know where that is," Lovino replied, "but maybe you can rest at my farm and then travel to Ja-Pan when you're well again. You really have a friend there who could help?"

The cat might not really be talking, and it was likely only in Lovino's head, but even if it didn't move its mouth, Lovino clearly heard the words. He was talking to a cat, and, as far as he knew, it was talking back. The cat may not have said much, and it wasn't even being particularly friendly, but Lovino wondered... _was this what it felt like to have a friend?_

"So this man in the mask who cursed you, where is he now?" Lovino asked, right at the moment that the door was unlocked and thrown open.

"See! I told you he was talking about curses with that devil cat!"

One of the boys from earlier was pointing into the room, and behind him stood two priests, as well as Lovino's own parents. The peaceful mood he'd been in came crashing down into his stomach.

"Don't worry," his father grimly told the priest, the man's cold eyes never leaving Lovino, "we'll take it from here. I assure you, this will be taken care of."

His mother tossed her long brown hair behind her shoulder. "Lovino, come," she ordered impatiently. "We're going home."

He stood on shaky legs, clutching the cat to his stomach. His father narrowed his eyes at the creature. Then, after a moment, he surprised Lovino by saying, "We'll be taking the cat, too."

Lovino couldn't believe it. They were actually letting him take the cat home? He hurried after his parents, rushing past the stone-faced priests and the city boy, whose face showed an angry and upset expression at Lovino going unpunished. Though certainly, when they got home, Lovino would get some sort of scolding or beating. But maybe... Maybe with the right words, he could persuade his parents to let the cat rest for a night.

They returned to the horses, and Lovino didn't see any of the other children along the way. His father helped Lovino's mother up onto her saddle, and the boy looked around, hoping the children wouldn't show and try to take the cat away again. The cat bristled in his arms, and he looked down, moving a hand to soothe it.

And then the cat was no longer in Lovino's arms.

His father had picked it up, snatching it out of the boy's hold by its tail. The motion had been too quick for Lovino to put up a fight, and even if he had, his father was twice as tall, three times as heavy, and four times as strong, so Lovino wouldn't have been able to do anything.

"Papà?" he asked, choking on the word.

The man dropped the cat into a brown sack he was holding in his other hand. "Boy, you've disgraced us for the last time! Stealing a cat and bring it inside a church... pretending that it talks to you... How do you think that makes us look?" He tied the bag tightly so the cat, which had starting kicking and scratching frenziedly, couldn't get out.

"No, Papà, please!" Lovino cried, attempting to reach around his father for the bag. The man caught his arm tightly, and Lovino winced in pain. "Let the cat go! Let him go!"

"Lovino, be quiet," his mother hushed, her eyes glancing around for onlookers. "You're such a disobedient child. Shut your mouth and do as you're told."

The hope that his parents would let him keep the cat had died. Assuming he would now be punished either way, Lovino threw all caution to the wind and bit his father's arm. The man let him go, and for one small second, Lovino thought he had a chance to grab the bag and free the animal. But his father was faster, and the man backhanded Lovino across the face before he had even raised a finger.

"You just won't learn, will you?" his father growled, standing over Lovino as he lay sprawling in the dirt. The boy could already feel a bruise forming, but he held back his tears. To his father, tears were weak, and weaknesses needed to be corrected.

In the end, Lovino was bound and gagged by his own father, after another failed attempt at rescuing the cat. He sat cross-ways on the horse, draped in his mother's arms. But not even the rare embrace of his mother could comfort Lovino. His father rode in front; the bag holding the cat was tied to his saddle. Lovino could see it still frantically pawing about.

"Oh, Lovino, do stop sniveling," his mother insisted. "It's just a cat."

 _But it was my friend_ , he thought bitterly, unable to hold back fresh tears.

The day only grew worse from there. Lovino had been unable to wipe his tears, so for most of the ride, he either had blurry vision, or he closed his eyes, praying for time to somehow go backwards, so that he might do something differently and save the cat. Lost in his misery, it took him quite a while to notice that they were not heading back towards the farm.

"Mmrffm?" he asked, craning his neck and looking around.

The scenery was vaguely familiar to Lovino, but he couldn't place it. Had he been here before? Or did this path just look like every other path? All he knew for certain was that they weren't headed home just yet.

Another thirty minutes went by before they reached their destination, and when Lovino saw where his father had brought them, he started to realize just _how much_ trouble he was in for.

They were at the lake.

His father jumped down from the horse and walked aimlessly around the area. There were some trees and bushes, and a large wood was on the other side of the water. The lake was not easily visible from the main road. Lovino briefly wondered if his parents were going to drown him.

Carrying several large stones, his father returned and removed the brown bag from where it was attached to the saddle. Then the man began tying the stones to the bag.

Lovino began kicking wildly, an action which was hindered by the rope that bound his legs together. _No, no, no, no, NO!_

"Stop thrashing around," his mother warned, "or your father will strike you again."

He didn't care. Lovino couldn't just sit and watch and do nothing while his father murdered an innocent animal! He was shaking so badly that the horse was getting agitated. His mother, displaying an unusual amount of strength, managed to hold him down.

"Mmffrm! Mnnfm!" he cried against the rag shoved in his mouth, tears spilling from his eyes.

His father tossed the weighted bag into the lake. It landed in the water with a sickening plop, disappearing beneath the rippled surface.

Lovino stared in horror at the spot where the cat had sank. _I'm sorry, kitty, I'm so very sorry!_

"If you had just stayed by the horses like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened," his mother told him tersely as his father mounted the other horse. She eyed his ugly crying face with disgust. "It's your fault the cat died, Lovino."

He turned to her fearfully. No, it wasn't true! It wasn't his fault!

She read his expression. "Of course it was your fault. Everything always is," she reminded, as they rode away from the lake and back towards their home. "Everything bad that happens around you is your fault, Lovino. If you weren't such a difficult and useless child, perhaps things would be better for you."

 _It wasn't his fault!_

"If you were better at work then we wouldn't have to punish you. If you wouldn't eat so much, perhaps we'd have enough food for everyone. If you were a likeable boy, your grandfather wouldn't have picked Feliciano over you. Your misfortunes are your own fault. That cat would still be alive if you hadn't stolen it and pretended it could talk. But you did, and so everyone thought it was witchcraft. Our family already has a bad enough reputation ever since you pushed that priest, and now this. Why can't you be more like Feliciano? Why can't you be a good little boy?"

 _It wasn't his fault... was it?_

His mother's lectures continued all the way back to the farm. Lovino bit the rag and tried to hold back more tears. She was right of course. If he had just left the cat alone, let it run away... None of this would have happened. He was the one who took the cat; it was his fault he hadn't grabbed the bag back from his father. It was his own fault, just like everything else.

When they returned home, Lovino was ready to finish his chores and go to bed. But his parents had other plans. His father removed the gag but left his hands and legs tied. His mother stood off to the side of the barn, glancing at Lovino, his father, and everything in between.

"Papà? Mamma?" he asked, looking worriedly between them. "I can't work like this..." He held up his roped wrists. "Aren't you going to untie me?"

His father returned from putting the horses inside the barn, still carrying the whip and a bag with some herbs from the doctor to help his mother's ailments. "You've disrespected me for the last time, boy," his father repeated sternly, handing over the bag to his mother. "We discipline you endlessly, but you just never learn."

"You think anyone else would be so patient with such a brat?" his mother asked. "We feed you, cloth you, give you shelter–"

"We're family!" Lovino interrupted with a sob. "You're supposed to love me!"

His mother laughed derisively, and his father yanked Lovino into the barn by the collar. The man threw him onto a pile of hay, where he landed hard on his hands and stomach. From the corner of his eye, Lovino watched the length of the whip fall loose from his father's hand.

"No... No, please no!" he sobbed. "Papà!"

"Anyone else would have thrown you out," his father mocked, flexing his hand. "All we ask is that you help around the farm, and you can't even manage that. Clearly we've been too soft on you."

Lovino tried to get up, but he took too long on his tied limbs. There was a resounding crack, and a bolt of hot pain shot through his back.

"Mamma, help me! Mamma," he choked.

The woman stared at him coldly. "You brought this on yourself, Lovino. We've been too patient with you. Anyone else would have thrown you out or killed you for your insolence."

Another crack, and the barn was filled with screams.

"Papà, stop..." he cried weakly. "You're my family... families are supposed to take care of each other..."

Crack. Scream. Pain. The pattern repeated.

"Take care of you?" his mother laughed. "Who would take care of you? A despicable, ugly, useless boy like you, Lovino?" _Crack_. "No one will ever care about you." _Crack_. "No one will ever want you." _Crack_. "No one will ever love you." _Crack_. "You are destined to be alone because of your worthlessness. You would do well to remember that." _Crack_.

"You want to be family?" his father taunted. "The only thing we share is a name, a name you have yet to live up to."

The whip cracked again.

Lovino couldn't move, couldn't breathe, _couldn't think_. He couldn't tell if he had stopped screaming, because the only sound ringing in his ears was the harsh words of his parents. His father's last comment drilled into his skull. They did share a name. A name that Lovino never, _ever_ wanted to live up to. He didn't want to be like that. Never.

The whipping finally stopped, and his parents exited the barn without another word, leaving him bruised, bloodied, and so very alone. The days that followed were full of agonizing pain.

It took three days for him to recover and leave the barn. But when he did, he emerged as Romano, and he barely spoke to his parents again. They refused to call him by his middle name, instead taunting him with _Lovino_ continuously. His father never whipped him again, and he avoided the man whenever possible. He really only tended to the farm so that he could provide for himself. Because he couldn't leave. Where would he go? No one else would take him in; he had to stay. At least here, he had food and a place to sleep.

His parents were right; no one would ever care about him. If his own family couldn't even want him, how could anyone else?

* * *

.

* * *

Romano hadn't thought about that day in a long time. Not until now.

After Antonio had gone downstairs to make the churros, Emma had helped Romano return to his own bedroom, where she had made him drink some more herbal tea, though it wasn't anywhere near as nasty as the concoction he'd drank earlier. While he was sitting on his bed, drinking the tea, Emma had brought up the scars.

Romano had tried so hard to keep them from her. He didn't want her to ask; he didn't want anyone to know. He didn't want to _tell_ anyone. But he couldn't exactly hide them anymore, not after she had seen them. However, he wouldn't tell her everything... he couldn't. The words would be too difficult to get out.

Emma was sitting beside him, waiting patiently for an answer. He gulped and looked down at his knees, twiddling his thumbs.

"I... I tried to rescue this cat from some mean kids, and... Everyone thought the cat was evil, and so they thought I was evil for saving it... So... I, umm... I was punished."

"Oh lieveke," Emma whispered, gathering him into her arms. "How could this happen? How could your parents let this happen?"

He couldn't answer that, and instead, he buried his face in her shoulder. Emma seemed to understand, though.

"Nee," she gasped. "They wouldn't!" Again, Romano couldn't bring himself to answer. Emma stroked his back and cradled him close. "And the cat...?"

Romano refused to respond to that, too.

A loud crash came from outside the bedroom, followed by a series of not-so-obscene obscenities. Emma reluctantly released Romano and went to investigate, but he already knew it was just the tomato bastard. Antonio had probably heard them talking and dropped something out of shock. Sure enough, Emma returned with a tray of food, shards of a glass and water decorating the excess space. Emma placed the plate of food on a table and left with the tray of broken glass, leaving Romano and his boss alone.

He didn't want to give the man a chance to ask about his scars. Romano poked at the food. "This is paella, bastard. I thought you were making churros?" he asked, gazing at his boss quizzically.

Antonio flashed him a smile. "I wanted to! Unfortunately, we are out of some ingredients, so Emma is going out to buy some, and we can make the churros tomorrow," he informed the boy. "Emma wanted to feed you soup, but I know how much you like the paella." His boss gave a wink.

Whether Antonio had picked up on the pointed subject change, or if he was just oblivious, Romano was appreciative.

"Well, Roma, I am glad you are feeling better," the man said cheerfully. He looked out the window at the afternoon sun. "You should probably rest for the day though, all right? I need to rest, too. We'll make some churros tomorrow, I promise!"

"I'll hold you to that," Romano replied gruffly, his mouth full of food.

Antonio shook his head in amusement. "Oh, I'm counting on it, Roma! Goodnight then, Romanito~"

The boy's brow twitched at the new nickname and he sent Antonio a fierce glare, but the man only laughed and waved as he left the room. It occurred to Romano that his boss didn't find his threats credible at all; if anything, it seemed that Antonio took pleasure in watching his henchman grow frustrated. Oh, right. Because his 'little angry face looked like a tomato.'

"Bastard," he muttered aloud.

* * *

Emma didn't return from town until after sunset that night. Antonio had sent her to buy more flour and butter, among other things; he normally wouldn't send her out on such short notice, but Emma knew that tomorrow was a special occasion, and so she had agreed. Antonio had fallen asleep shortly after she'd left, and when he woke around seven o'clock, she was still out. He wasn't worried; Emma could take care of herself. If anything, she had probably gone to visit that French tailor and lost track of time. So Antonio didn't concern himself with her absence, and instead, he focused his troubles elsewhere.

And so, when Emma finally came back to the castle, it was not his bedroom where she found her boss. Nor was he in the laboratory. He was in another one of his reconstructed rooms, formerly two bedrooms that he had turned into one larger storeroom. A place to keep his weapons.

Antonio heard the door open, but he kept his eyes on the sword he was sharpening.

"I haven't seen you in here in a long time," his housekeeper commented, looking at the weapons that hung from every surface of every wall.

"I haven't had a reason to come in here in a long time," he replied, easing his foot off the pedal. The grindstone slowed to a halt as he flourished the sword to the left, eying the edge of the blade. Perfect.

"I can't believe his parents were such horrible people," she remarked. "To harm your own child like that..."

Antonio stopped admiring the sword to glance at Emma from the corner of his eyes. "I can believe it," he said. His expression darkened as he replaced the sharp sword for a dull one and began running it along the grindstone as he pedaled. "Romulus briefly talked about his family... he mentioned that his late wife and daughter were not fond of him. They called him a demon and thought he was in league with the devil, and they went so far as to pretend they weren't even blood-related. Then they cut him out of their lives altogether."

Antonio didn't mention what else he knew. Romulus and his wife had only married because of the unplanned pregnancy, to please the woman's religious family. He had tried to hide his magical powers, but eventually his wife had found out. He tried to explain the concept of wizardry to the woman and their young daughter, but they believed it to be devil's work.

The rest of what Antonio knew of the man, he had heard from Roderich, when the Austrian had contacted him to inform him of the Italian's death and then again when the boys' parents died. Romulus had left the family alone for a while, even keeping a distance at his estranged wife's funeral. But once he heard that he had grandchildren, Romulus began to worry that the children might show signs of magic, too. So he visited his daughter, offering money and support in the form of taking the children to Venice with him. Initially, his daughter refused, but her husband reminded her that they needed money for the farm and doctor expenses. Reluctantly, she agreed, but she allowed her father to only take one of the children with him. After spending some time with each of the children, Romulus apparently determined that the younger boy might have inherited some powers, and so he had taken Feliciano away, leaving Romano on the farm with his parents.

Romano might not be a wizard like his brother, but if his parents thought he was doing anything abnormal or strange, like helping a supposedly-evil cat, Romano would certainly be punished for it. Antonio wondered how many other times the boy had suffered at the hands of those bastards...

He ceased the grinding when he heard a slight screech. In his anger, he had sharpened too much.

"You're being awfully noisy, don't you think?" Emma asked, her gaze lingering on the crossbows. "What if Romano wakes up?"

The Spaniard shrugged. "He knows better than to investigate." He placed the sword back on the wall next to the others.

She huffed. "I was more concerned about his sleep being interrupted."

Antonio's face plainly showed his lack of concern, and Emma's frowned deepened. "Do you need something?" he asked sharply. "I'm a bit busy here, if you haven't noticed." His hand rested on the pole of his halberd. It didn't need any attention, really; it had been cleaned less than three years ago... but... His hand twitched.

Emma ignored his slight. "I have news from Francis."

He turned away from his prized weapon. "Do you? Is that why you've returned so late?"

"Yes," she answered evenly. "Strange tale coming out of Madrid." She waited until she had the señor's full attention before continuing. "Francis overheard it at the bar a few nights ago, from a traveler who recently visited Madrid." Antonio nodded for her to continue. "Well, it seems that the man had only stopped in the city to visit a friend and rest for a bit. They went out to get drinks, and that's when they heard the story. One of Madrid's cheaper inns had recently hired a new cook. For two days, no one noticed anything, but on the third day, everyone who had eaten anything from the inn... they all died."

"Food poisoning?" he asked, and Emma nodded.

"Most of the dead were found in rooms upstairs, but a few people had already checked out and gone elsewhere. The Civil Guard investigated and found that several other people who died elsewhere in Madrid had stayed at that same inn during the previous two days. After determining the cause of death was food poisoning for everyone, they raided the place, but no one ever found the cook."

"That's interesting indeed," Antonio mused, though Emma wasn't fooled. She knew he hadn't found it interesting... yet.

"I think you'll find it _very_ interesting," she agreed, stressing the last two words. _That_ got her boss's undivided attention.

"The cook... was English."

Antonio's dark eyes widened, his head snapping up at once. An Englishman in Spain, who was a terrible cook with lethal food? It _had_ to be Arthur Kirkland. There was no way this was just a coincidence. That fool had always thought he could cook even when numerous people informed him otherwise. And Madrid was only a day's trip away...

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked, wondering if he should leave now or wait until dawn. The roads would be safer during the daytime, but it wasn't as if Antonio could fall into any _real_ danger.

"Several weeks ago."

 _Damn it!_ Antonio let out a stream of curses, pulling his halberd from its resting place. He swung it violently, slicing through a nearby chair. Certainly that damned warlock had escaped Madrid in all that time. He was furious at losing out on such a rare opportunity.

"I hope you're going to repair that," Emma said with a sigh, looking at the broken chair.

"Damn it, woman, can't you let me have a moment?" he grumbled, staring at his blade with longing. "He was _so close_. I've waited to kill him for so, _so_ long... and now he's disappeared again!"

"Hunting down your immortal enemy is really no way to celebrate tomorrow," Emma noted, clearly displeased with his display of violence. "I'll leave you to your 'moment' then," she mocked, leaving him alone.

Antonio breathed in deeply. He knew she was right. He would gain nothing by running off to Madrid tomorrow, even if the incident had happened recently. Arthur Kirkland could disappear like smoke. Besides... Romano was looking forward to the churros.

He ran a hand through his hair. He had known that Romano's parents weren't nice people when they had been alive, but he never imagined it was this bad. It was too bad they were already dead, otherwise he would have loved to arrange a meeting between them and his halberd. He wondered how often they had beaten Romano. They probably didn't feed him enough either, he guessed. Antonio wouldn't be surprised if Romano had been a malnourished and sickly child.

Something caught in his memory as he imagined Romano attempting to farm, ill on top of his already-terrible work skills. He had read something, somewhere... something about a condition children had after falling sick... something to do with a saint? That didn't sound right, but...

He immediately set to work digging through every medical book he owned.

* * *

When Romano woke the next morning, it wasn't due to the normal birds chirping outside his window, or Emma rapping upon his door.

Romano awoke to find his boss standing over him, poking him gently in the cheek. "Ah, there's my little henchman!" the man cooed.

"Get away from me!" the boy yelled, kicking the man right in the stomach. He was rewarded when Antonio keeled over in pain, clutching his gut.

"Aww, Roma, why do you have to hurt Boss so much?" he cried.

"Because my boss is a bastard," the boy replied smugly. "Now, what the hell are you doing in my room?"

Antonio sprung up joyfully, his eyes aglow. "Don't you remember what today is?" he asked excitedly. "We're making churros!"

Romano peered out his window; the sun was barely peeking over the mountains. "At the crack of dawn?"

"Yes, well... I want to spend as much time with my henchman as I can!" the Spaniard replied, reaching over to pry Romano from his bed. "Come on! I don't want to waste a minute."

"Alright, alright, just _get off me!_ " he complied, shaking off the man's hand.

Antonio waited outside as Romano changed out of his sleeping garments. The man was whistling a tune that the boy thought he recognized, but he couldn't place where he had heard it before. After several minutes (that he dragged out just to annoy his boss), Romano followed Antonio down to the kitchen.

"These had better be the damn best thing I've ever tasted," Romano threatened, glaring at the man's back. "You promised, remember?"

Antonio laughed. "Oh believe me, Roma, I don't joke when it comes to churros."

* * *

.

* * *

 _Lieveke - little sweet one_

 _Nee - no_

 _Civil Guard - Spain's police unit_

* * *

 _I'm very sorry about the lack of churros and music in this chapter! D: I swear, they'll be in chapter 10. I was already over 4,000 words after the flashback, but I thought I could still work in the churros scene (something happy after that depressing farm part). However, then this last scene between Emma and Antonio somehow wedged itself into the chapter. I didn't even have that part planned; it just wrote itself in._

 _Instead of tasty treats, you got some backstory here. This chapter is probably my least favorite so far, mostly because it was sad as heck to write the flashback on how Romano got his scars. The Vargas parents aren't very nice people, as you can see. Since Romulus is their maternal grandfather, the boys get their looks from him and their mother. I imagine their mother looks somewhat like NyoRomano, albeit a bit more crooked... sharper nose, thinner, not nearly as pretty._

 _So, Antonio met Romulus at some point, who also knew Roderich, and Roderich and Antonio know each other, and they both wanted to take in Romulus's successor, but Roderich got there first (sorry Tonio)... and Arthur is still running around loose, and he and Antonio have a history yet to be said... I'm dropping hints at things, but I'm slow to reveal everything, ahaha. Timing is everything, after all._

 _A very happy, very adorable chapter 10 is under construction :3 I've got about 4 browser tabs open on making churros, pastries in the 1800's, and 'The Encyclopedia of Kitchen History'. Much research goes into this story. Until next time, ciao~  
_


	10. Chapter 10

Notes: I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar errors in this chapter. I've tried to look it over, but this may be the only chance I have to post before another crazy schedule of work, so here it is! I'll come back and correct things when I have a chance. Please forgive me!

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

* * *

.

* * *

"Ah~I want to eat... churro–churro–churros, que aproveche!"

Antonio sang as he led the way down to the kitchen, Romano following behind skeptically. The Spaniard had described churros as if they were the most amazing food on the planet, second only to tomatoes by a margin, but Romano couldn't imagine anything possibly tasting as delicious as tomatoes. Churros were sweet, supposedly like waffles, and he liked waffles, but Romano was not used to sweet foods. He'd grown up on a diet of bread and eggs and meat, and he could only remember having something sweet once, when his grandfather visited and took Feliciano away; the man had brought them little sugar biscuits. He supposed they had tasted good, but that memory was tied to a day of other bad memories, so the biscuits had never really stood out in his mind.

But everything Antonio had cooked so far was delectable, and he could only assume that the churros would be enjoyable as well.

Instead of cooking in the fireplace like they did when making stew or paella, Antonio headed for the iron stove. Wood was placed into the chambers in the front, and food was cooked on top. At least, that's what Romano had been told; he had never actually seen it in use.

Antonio grabbed the kitchen footstool from by the sink, where Romano had used it while he washed dishes the other day. He placed it in front of the stove.

"One of these days, Roma, you'll hit a growth spurt," the man told him. "But until then, you have to use this."

"I know that, bastard!" the boy retorted, fuming. "It's not as if I was going to let you lift me up or something!"

The man chuckled and donned an apron, while Romano put on his own. "That would certainly make it hard to cook, if I held you with one arm," Antonio teased, pulling at the bow of the boy's apron. Romano scowled, but the man just laughed again. "So, Roma, would you like to help me? Or would you prefer to just watch?"

"You wanted to make these, not me," Romano replied, puffing his cheeks. " _You_ can do all of the work." Antonio smiled and poked a puffy cheek, causing Romano to deflate and yell at the Spaniard.

"Okay then!" Antonio boomed, ceasing the boy's ranting. "Let's get started! So, first we need to gather the ingredients."

Despite his verbal refusal to help, Romano was somehow manipulated into fetching things for his boss. He told himself that he just wanted to eat faster; it was definitely _not_ due to that bastard's bright grin or encouraging words. He piled salt, sugar, butter, and chocolate onto the table next to his boss. When he went to retrieve eggs, Antonio stopped him, explaining that while waffles, cakes, and other pastries needed eggs, churros tasted much better without them. Now Romano was even more hesitant to believe that this dessert would be "magic in your mouth."

Once the stove was heated, Antonio placed a large pan with water over the heat. Next, he set a saucepan of butter over a second burner, where a smaller fire was burning. "We're melting the butter," Antonio explained, "to soften it up before mixing it in. It's going to get nice and oily."

The butter melted quickly, and Antonio then poured the butter into the pan with the water. "We'll add some sugar... and a little bit of salt... and mix them together."

Romano watched closely, perched atop the stool and much closer to his boss than he normally would stand. Antonio was still cheery and relaxed, but he was also focused, too. It wasn't the same sort of foreboding seriousness that Romano had seen at night, but rather like the mood the man had when tending to his beloved tomatoes. Romano preferred it when his boss was like this, as it meant he neither had to deal with Antonio's silliness (which embarrassed him) nor his scariness (which terrified him).

However, Romano's contentment was short-lived.

Once the mixture began to boil, Antonio removed the pan from the heat onto the other unused burner. "We'll add the flour now, piccolino," he explained, reaching across Romano's spluttering face for the bag.

The boy's brain fizzled. "Wha... What did you just call me, bastard?!"

Antonio paused in his flour-mixing. "Hmm?" he asked, tilting his head. "What did I say wrong?"

Romano flushed. "Y-you...! Why the hell would you call me _that_ , bastard?"

The Spaniard, realizing he hadn't actually mispronounced anything, laughed openly. "Because! _Piccolo_ means small, right? And you taught me that _-ino_ is often used as a suffix for children, right?"

Romano's jaw dropped. Why, oh why had he ever let that slip to his boss? Now he'd never hear the end of it. While Romano had never had any nicknames as a baby, his parents had often called Feliciano by such cute names, their most frequent being _carino_. Romano must have accidentally mentioned something about _-ino_ to his boss during one of their Italian lessons, though he honestly could not remember when.

"Th-that doesn't mean you can call me that! Bastard!" Romano screeched, hitting the Spaniard's arm repeatedly.

"Ahaha, well then," Antonio said playfully, hunching slightly so that they were eye-to-eye, "I suppose I'll just have to call you... mio pomodorino."

Romano's face was so hot that he feared it would burn right through his skin. This... this bastard...! It didn't help that his embarrassment and anger only caused his face to turn redder, which Antonio was now cooing over. Mio pomodorino. _My little tomato._

Antonio was still laughing happily. "Oh, Romanito, you are so cuuuute~!"

"Leave me alone, you bastard!" he yelled. If not for the pan of hot flour, he would have kicked and punched the idiot. Instead, he had to settle for hitting Antonio's shoulder again. "Get back to the churros, bastard! I don't see anything edible yet!"

"Heh, whatever you say... mio pomodorino," Antonio responded, chuckling and stepping out of the way when Romano made to hit him again.

The Spaniard mixed the flour in until it all formed a nice batter mixture. "Now, Roma, we'll fry the churros! So, next we'll heat another pan and add the oil for frying. While that is warming up, let's pour the churro dough into a forcing bag."

"What's a forcing bag?" Romano asked, momentarily forgoing his anger for his interest in the churro-making process.

Antonio held out a bag made of canvas. "It's used to force food into other food... but also bakers use them for shaping dough. We're going to use the bag to force the churro dough into long pieces!"

Romano watched as his boss poured the dough into the big forcing bag. By now, the oil in the giant pan was popping, ready to fry the churros. Antonio carefully squeezed the bag over the pan, piping long strands of dough into the hot oil. Several times, he turned them over, making sure each strip was fried evenly on all sides. The light dough quickly turned a golden-brown, and Romano found himself salivating. He hadn't eaten breakfast yet, either...

After the churros were nice and fried, Antonio laid them on parchment paper to cool. Then he poured more sugar into a bowl.

"Bastard, what's that for?"

"We're going to roll the churros in the sugar!" Antonio exclaimed. "Will you help me? If you can get each churro sugar-coated, I'll make the chocolate."

While Antonio heated chocolate, milk, and more sugar over the stove, Romano gingerly dipped the churros into the bowl of sugar, one at a time. First, he had to blow on them softly to cool them off, and then he would poke the end to make sure it wasn't too hot to touch. After coating the churro, he would set it on a serving plate. It was probably due to his hunger, but Romano felt like the process took _forever_. There seemed to be an endless amount of churros and – how would they even eat all of these?

"You made quite a lot of churros, bastard," he commented, setting the last sugary, fried pastry onto the plate. "Do we really need this many?"

"Haha, trust me, Roma, you'll be asking for seconds," Antonio swore, setting a bowl of warm chocolate sauce on the table. He took the plate of churros to the table as well, and Romano followed.

After they were settled with the plate of churros between them, Antonio looked to the boy. "Do you want the honor of eating the first one?"

Romano eyed them suspiciously, wondering if it was possible they might be poisoned. He had watched the Spaniard add each ingredient, but... perhaps he had added something else when Romano had been distracted...

"Haha, okay then, I'll try one first," his boss amended, sensing the Italian's distrust.

Antonio excitedly picked up a sugary churro, and Romano could see the man's mouth watering in anticipation. He gently dipped the pastry into the chocolate, covering almost half of it. He lifted it to his lips, inhaling the sweet scent of his favorite food, before he popped the entire length of the churro into his mouth.

" _Mmmm._ " Antonio's eyes closed as he reveled in the delicious, bliss-inducing taste of the magnificent dessert. Romano was watching warily, startled by just how many moans of pleasure the Spaniard was making. Didn't he eat these all of the time? And how could he eat them like that, all in one go? Antonio shoved another pastry into his mouth, and Romano could practically see the stars in Antonio's eyes.

"Mio pomodorino, you better hurry up and eat one, before I eat them all," he teased, reaching over for a third one.

Romano huffed at both the nickname and his boss's ridiculous statement. "As if you possibly could eat all of them."

The man stared at him, his churro half dipped in chocolate and paused mid-air. "I told you, Roma, I never joke when it comes to churros." Then he sunk his teeth into the pastry and all but swallowed it whole.

Slightly disturbed by Antonio's churro obsession, Romano hesitantly grabbed a churro off the plate, feeling the sugar grains under his fingers. He looked it over, inspecting it for anything unusual. Antonio was watching amusedly, so the boy gave the churro another once-over for good measure. Cautiously, he raised it near his nose and sniffed: it certainly smelled delicious. _Well, here goes nothing..._

Romano opened his mouth, bit into the churro, and tore it in half. He chewed thoughtfully.

It tasted as good as a waffle – no, _better_ than a waffle. The sugar exploded on his tongue, and the pastry itself was the perfect blend of a crisp, crunchy outside and a soft, warm inside. He quickly dipped the remaining half into the bowl of chocolate before finishing that off as well.

His boss grinned victoriously. "I told you so."

Romano scoffed. No way was that annoying tomato bastard getting the last word. "Bastard, you lied," he told the man.

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

The boy snatched another sweet treat from the rapidly-decreasing pile. "These are _way better_ than you described."

His boss's confused expression broke into a giant smile as he watched his henchman devour a third and fourth churro. Romano was almost on his sixth dessert before Antonio snapped back to attention, too busy gloating and grinning like a fool. "So you like them?" he asked, eying the boy as he slathered another churro in chocolate.

"Mmm, bastard, these are _delizioso!_ Non ho mai assaggiato niente di più dolce," Romano sighed, licking the excess sugar off of his fingers. Spotting the empty plate, his shoulders sagged.

The Spaniard was sucking his thumb, no doubt also in pursuit of lost sugar. He caught Romano's eye. "So, Roma... do you want seconds?"

The boy just about jumped out of his chair. "You mean we can make _more?!_ "

Antonio nodded, happy to see the little Italian's excitement. "Yes we can! Okay, then, piccolino, want to help me this time?"

* * *

They ended up making three more batches of churros. Despite the fact that Romano and his boss could no doubt polish off four batches of the tasty treats, much of the second helping ended up on the kitchen floor. Romano had been nervous about piping the dough into the hot frying pan, even though Antonio had assured him that he'd be right behind him. The first churro had been dropped too high; boiling oil splashed everywhere, and Antonio had immediately pulled Romano out of harm's way. The second churro hadn't been much better; the spitting oil had scared Romano, causing him to squeeze the bag a bit too hard, squirting half of the dough all over the floor. Frustrated and angry, Romano had tried to quit, but Antonio wouldn't let him give up, and so the Spaniard had helped him pipe a few misshapen churros into the pan. By the fourth round, Romano had done most of the churros himself.

The Italian eagerly carried the plate to the table, hopping into his chair and pulling the pastries close. Antonio laughed and sat down across from him.

"Hey now, what about my share?"

"Mmm... You can have _one_."

"Haha, mio pomodorino, you're so funny," Antonio replied, deftly stealing the plate out from under the boy's nose. "At least half of these are mine."

"A fourth!"

"A third."

"...fine then, bastard," Romano conceded. "But only if you shut up with the nicknames." The plate was still a bit far away, and when he went to dip another churro into the sauce, he accidentally flicked some chocolate onto his own nose.

Antonio doubled over with laughter. Romano glared, but before he could even get up to grab a washcloth, the Spaniard was already beside him. "How am I suppose to resist calling you such cute names," Antonio asked warmly, wiping the boy's nose affectionately, "when you go and do such adorable things like that, mio cioccolatino?"

Romano choked. "Smettila di dire queste cose, bastard! I am regretting ever teaching you Italian words!" Not that Antonio had learned much, just things around the mansion and garden; he couldn't actually speak Italian fluently or even make conversation, really. And although the paella was amazing, having his boss call Romano 'his little chocolate' was enough to make the boy heavily rue the arrangement.

"Starting the celebration early, I see." Emma had finally woken, or perhaps she had already been awake and was only just now coming downstairs. She placed a basket of laundry by the hall before approaching the table.

"Celebration?" Romano inquired, looking to his boss for clarification.

"It's the señor's birthday," Emma answered, ruffling the man's hair. She kissed Antonio's cheek. "Gelukkige verjaardag, liefste."

"Haha, thank you, but it's really not a big deal," he said, waving her off as she collected the dirty dishes and deposited them in the sink. "When you're as old as I am, they hardly mean anything." He met Romano's eye and blushed, turning away to scratch the back of his head sheepishly.

Romano had no idea what his boss meant by that. "Just how old are you, bastard?"

Both his boss and the housekeeper stared at him.

"Romano!" Emma scolded, having whipped around from her dish washing to shake a wet rag in his direction. "Watch your mouth!"

Antonio chuckled oddly, still looking sheepish. "Ah, I'm... twenty-five." Emma cast a furtive glance at her boss before returning to her task. The Spaniard merely shrugged and smiled at his henchman.

"Well, Roma, I think we're both a bit floury from the cooking, so how about you go take a bath, and I'll do the same," Antonio suggested. "After that, I was hoping you'd join me in a little activity... something to celebrate my birthday?"

The man's tone suggested that it would be something Romano would likely oppose, so he frowned as he followed his boss out of the kitchen. But he couldn't exactly refuse... it was Antonio's _birthday_ , after all. Was twenty-five really old? He had no idea. He wasn't even sure how old his parents had been; he only knew that his grandfather had been younger than Emma when the man had died. How old would Antonio live to be? What would happen to Romano when the man died? The Italian shrugged off such thoughts, not wanting to worry about something so far off.

"So, how about we meet in an hour," Antonio instructed once they had reached the third floor. "Let's meet in the main dining hall, all right?"

"What exactly are we doing, bastard?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"You'll see," the man replied with a grin. "It's not just for my benefit... it should help you, Roma."

"Help me with what?"

"I'll explain later," the Spaniard said dismissively. "For now... see you in a bit!" Antonio skipped off down the hall to his own bedroom, leaving Romano standing in front of the stairwell.

What was that tomato bastard up to now?

* * *

Freshly bathed and feeling refreshed, Romano entered the dining hall an hour later, only to find a large, empty room. Upon a closer look, he noticed that the large oak dining table had been pushed against the far wall, and most of the chairs were stacked nearby. He couldn't imagine how Antonio and Emma had moved that long table; it had to weigh a ton!

Emma was sitting on a chair in the corner. She held a large box in her lap, and though he was unfamiliar with such things, its design made Romano think of the organs at church, and he wondered if it was perhaps a musical instrument of some sort. He then saw Antonio on the opposite end of the room, fiddling with something in his hand. It jingled every time he moved.

"Ah, Roma!" He spied the little Italian and hurried over. "So! Are you ready to have fun?"

Romano glared at him suspiciously. "You haven't even told me what we're doing yet, bastard. How would I know if it will be fun?"

Emma scolded him for his language again. "I swear, lieveke, if you use such foul words again..." Antonio gave him an 'I told you so' look.

Romano would have to settle for some other insult to call his boss when the old lady was around. Of course, he couldn't call the bastard anything bad in Spanish, or they'd know. And he couldn't call him anything bad in Italian, or Emma would know. He'd have to watch his tongue.

"So, Roma, do you remember how I said I would help you with your clumsiness?" Antonio suddenly asked, causing Romano to blush crimson. He was bringing that up _now?_

The boy scowled. "What about it?"

His boss tried to look heartening. "Well, I thought of something last night. I was wondering, Roma, did you ever have rheumatic or even scarlet fever?" Romano stared. Antonio's smile began to wane. "Um, you don't have to answer if you don't want to..."

"They're diseases," Emma cut in, sensing the boy's confusion. "Scarlet fever can develop after a throat infection, with a large rash. Rheumatic fever can also occur after a throat infection."

"I... I'm not sure," he answered truthfully. "I think I got sick once or twice... but I was really little, and I don't remember much." Antonio and Emma looked thoughtful. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Antonio shifted on his feet, the thing in his hand jingling in response. "Well, if you had one of these diseases, you may have developed something called Chorea, or Saint Vitus's Dance. Your limbs might jerk uncontrollably. I thought perhaps your jerky movements might be caused by this."

He had never considered before that his clumsiness might be a medical condition. His parents had always told him that his actions were his own fault, and that he was a naughty boy for acting out and always breaking things. Could it really all be the fault of some disease he had as a child? Romano was hesitant to believe that it wasn't by his own accord.

"I suppose..." he finally replied. "But what does this have to do with..." He gestured to the room. "...whatever we're about to do?"

Antonio smiled triumphantly. "Chorea is called such because the jerky movements of the hands and feet often look like dancing." Romano's eyes widened, but Antonio only smiled more. "Being Italian, I trust that you have at least heard of the Tarantella, yes? It's a traditional Italian dance... that has an interesting history." Romano could only stare at his boss, not wanting to panic at where this seemed to be going. _Please let me be wrong..._

"Getting its name from a local spider, the Tarantella was believed to cure victims of spider bites," Antonio continued. His shifting grew more fluid as he hopped from one foot to the other. "People would dance for hours in order to sweat the poison out." Romano watched the man hop around and dance to an invisible tune, his hand jingling rapidly. "So!" His outburst caused the boy to jump. "Romanito, I have a theory that... perhaps if you dance the Tarantella... you will sweat the spasms out!"

A bemused snort came from behind Romano, and the two males turned to see Emma hiding her face behind the instrument. "I'm sorry, señor, but you have to admit," she said, calming her giggles, "that it is a pretty farfetched theory. Not to mention... it has never been proven that dancing ever cured a poisonous spider bite."

"I don't have any spider bites," Romano added, hoping to kill this idea before it could take off.

Romano couldn't dance. He didn't know how and had never been taught. His parents believed that dancing was an evil, something demons did to summon the Devil. He and Feliciano had been caught dancing once (or trying to dance, since they really didn't know how; they had only seen people dancing once in Rome), and they had been severely punished with no food for two days. It was one of the few times Romano could remember Feliciano ever being in trouble. If Romano was forced to dance, he'd surely be terrible at it.

Antonio wasn't to be deterred, though. "Your lack of bites isn't a concern here. But think about it. People would dance to sweat out the poison; the dancing would cure them. Don't you think it's worth a shot?"

Emma sighed. "I think your theory has some holes, but I won't stop you from trying," she said, clearly still amused. Antonio was pleased that she had given in.

"I can't dance." Romano had blurted out the words, and he quickly slapped his hands over his mouth.

"Can't dance?" his boss asked, cocking his head to the side. "Whatever do you mean? Everyone can dance. Don't worry, I'll teach you the Tarantella at a good pace."

"No, bas-señor," he said, changing his word as he saw Emma's strict look. "I mean I don't know how to dance at all!"

Antonio's laugh rang throughout the grand room. "Well, then! There's no better time to learn!" Romano wasn't so sure. "Come on, Roma, per favore?"

It just had to be that bastard's birthday, didn't it? Romano groaned.

"All right, fine! I'll try your stupid dance. But I can already tell you, it won't help," he mumbled. "I'm just bad at housework..."

Antonio beamed. "Nonsense! But either way... I promise you, Roma, we'll have fun!"

The instrument Emma was holding turned out to indeed be something musical: an accordion. She was going to play a Tarantella tune on the accordion while Antonio taught Romano how to dance.

"Now, Roma, the Tarantella is a fast-paced dance, but we can always go slower if you like," his boss said, leading the boy out to the middle of the room. The instrument in his hand jingled again.

"What's that in your hand, capo?"

Somehow the word had slipped past his lips without a second thought. Out of the corner of his eye, Romano saw Emma's face go from confused to entertained, and he prayed that she wouldn't translate. She seemed to catch his terrified look, and Emma reassured him of her silence as she mimed locking her lips.

Antonio, on the other hand, looked disappointed. "Roma, what are you calling your poor boss now?" he sobbed. "No doubt something like bastard, but worse..."

Romano refused to answer. It was much more fun letting the bastard believe it was an insult.

"Just get on with it," he snapped, not wanting to watch the man dissolve into uncontrollable weeping. "Teach me this stupid dance already."

The Spaniard was only too happy to comply. He explained that the instrument in his hand was a tambourine, commonly used during the Tarantella. Then, before he began to teach, he showed Romano just exactly _what_ the Tarantella looked like. To Romano, it looked like a complicated series of hops and kicks, all while flicking the tambourine. As Emma played the accordion and Antonio danced around the room, whistling occasionally to a certain part that Emma couldn't play on her instrument, the tightness in Romano's chest began to loosen. The music was lively, the hopping was fast but not too daunting, and Antonio's laugh was practically infectious. Romano thought he might actually (secretly, of course, because there was no way he was letting the tomato bastard be right) enjoy the Tarantella.

If he didn't screw it up first.

Antonio had the two of them face each other. "So, Roma, when you feel more confident, I have a tambourine for you, too, but for now, we'll just focus on you practicing the basic steps," he said, shaking his tambourine for added effect. "First, start with your hands on your hips."

Romano did as he was told. Hands on hips. Next, he was to kick his right foot out at a low angle. Antonio did the same, so that their feet almost touched in the middle. As they kicked out on the right foot, they hopped onto the left. Right kick, left hop. Left kick, right hop. Repeat.

He threw his arms out for balance. "Ah, Romano, you've got to keep your hands on your hips," Antonio teased as they went through the steps again. Romano groaned, but his boss merely shook his head. "Don't worry, Roma, you'll get there."

Left kick, right hop. Right kick, left hop. Next, they repeated the hop-kicking again, but this time with their feet higher in the air, legs curved in. "Bas-Capo, this is impossible," Romano growled, struggling to get his legs to do what he wanted. He just couldn't raise his leg that high.

"Hmm, perhaps we should stretch first?" Antonio asked, pausing in his dancing. They stopped the lesson for a bit to stretch their limbs, and Emma took the time to stretch her body as well, setting the accordion aside to get up and walk around. After almost ten minutes of stretching, Antonio decided they were ready to give it another go.

Romano felt the stretching had only made it worse. His limbs had just been pushed to their limits, and now he wanted to dance on them? His body seemed to reject the idea. But after several more attempts, Romano thought maybe the stretching did help after all.

Once Antonio felt Romano had somewhat learned the two levels of kicking, they moved on to the next part. Still hopping, they met shoulder to shoulder facing each other. Antonio's right arm was thrown out, slightly curved in towards Romano, almost over his chest, and his left arm was gracefully poised in the air with the tambourine; his left foot was kicked out and bent in towards the Italian, while he hopped on his right leg. Romano had trouble balancing on his right foot, and the height difference made it awkward for him to put an arm around his boss; he was supposed to be covering the man's stomach, but instead his arm was just above Antonio's raised leg.

"Sorry, I know I'm a bit of a tall dance partner for you," the Spaniard apologized as they hopped on their respective feet in a circle. "Hmm, maybe I should change it to where we just keep our right arms on our hips–"

Romano tripped, falling headfirst into Antonio's gut and toppling them both over. The man landed on his back, grunting when Romano landed on his stomach.

"I knew I'd be bad at this," the boy moaned. "We should just quit now and not waste the time. I know you're busy and–"

Antonio sat up and smiled. "Don't be silly, Romanito. There's no place I'd rather be."

Feeling his face grow red, Romano stood up and dusted himself off. His boss couldn't possibly mean what he'd said; anyone would rather be anywhere than with Romano.

"Do you want to put all of that together and try it a few times before calling it a day?" Antonio asked, standing. "I still have to check over the tomatoes before I go to bed."

Romano couldn't help the small frown that grew on his mouth. Was his boss giving up on him already? He had expected it, but still...

"Not that I am not enjoying our time together, Roma," Antonio corrected. "We can do this for an hour or two every day until you learn the entire dance."

"You mean there's more?" the boy asked, astonished. It was hard enough finding energy for all of that hopping. And there was _more?_

His boss only smiled. "Yes indeed! You're doing a fantastic job so far, Roma."

The boy snorted. "Whatever, capo. Just get on with it."

Antonio cried at his new nickname again, sobbing about how cruelly he was abused. Romano only rolled his eyes, inwardly smirking at the man's ignorance. As much as he thought this dancing idea was silly, Romano appreciated that the man was trying to help. No one had ever wanted to help Romano before. He appreciated it more than he would ever let that bastard capo know.

As they danced for another half hour, Romano found himself enjoying it a little more. The man praised him, but Romano only fought off the hugs with light shoves and "Don't touch me, capo!" causing the Spaniard to fall into another fit of sobs. Perhaps someday he'd explain to Antonio the man's new nickname, but for now, it was more fun to watch him stress out over its possible insulting meaning. Happy birthday, bastard.

Capo. _Boss_.

* * *

.

* * *

 _Que aproveche - Bon appétit! I left it in Spanish since there isn't really a direct English translation._

 _-Ino - Italian diminutive suffix_

 _Piccolino - little one_

 _Carino - cute/cutie_

 _Mio pomodorino - my little tomato_

 _Delizioso - delicious_

 _Non ho mai assaggiato niente di più dolce - I've never tasted anything sweeter!_

 _Mio cioccolatino - my little chocolate_

 _Smettila di dire queste cose - stop saying such things!_

 _Gelukkige verjaardag, liefste - Happy birthday, dear_

 _Lieveke - little sweet one_

 _Per favore - please_

 _Capo - boss_

* * *

 _As the author, I am not responsible for any cavities you as a reader may get from the sugary sweetness of this chapter._

 _The long awaited churro scene! I think churros today are usually fried in a deep fryer, but my friend and I have actually made them in a pan before for a school assignment, and I read that in the past, they cooked churros in a pan over a fire. As for the thing about not using eggs, some recipes do call for eggs in churros, but I have heard many times that eggs ruin the taste. I'm actually getting churros this afternoon, yay!_

 _Also, the Tarantella! For those unfamiliar with the Hetalia backstory, Spain has chibi Romano dance the Tarantella to cure him of his Chorea, which is why he is so terrible at cleaning, though it is never revealed if the dancing works or not. There is more dancing to come in future chapters, and we'll just have to see if Romano is cured of his clumsiness._

 _I have to say, it's awfully bizarre trying to write dancing. I hope it came across all right. I watched many Tarantella videos, but if you're curious as to which exact dance Antonio is teaching Romano, it's part of this video: you tube dot com slash watch?v=cDt0mWbFHM0 (just remove the spaces and add the correct symbols back, ffnet won't let me post the actual link). Antonio whistles the flute parts~  
_

 _One more note... In Italian, aside from when referring to family members, the possessive pronoun "my" is 'il mio' rather than just 'mio'. However, Antonio is not fluent in Italian, and he is thinking 'mio pomodorino' is correct, similar to how 'my tomato' would be 'mi tomate' in Spanish. I suppose, technically, he could be referring to Romano this way because he thinks of Roma as family, but... somehow I doubt he is that smart to figure that out (Romano certainly didn't tell him)._

 _I'll try to have chapter 11 up before I go out of town for a week in early July, but I can't promise when due to my insane work schedule. Til then, ciao!_


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